


Full Moon

by Magnificent_Beast



Series: A Werewolf is a Human Being [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Disability, F/M, Feminist Themes, Psychological Drama, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 70,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23112790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnificent_Beast/pseuds/Magnificent_Beast
Summary: Remus Lupin's life in both his human state and his wolf state. During the war against Voldemort, Dumbledore gives Remus a mission that threatens his humanity. Tonks loves him unconditionally but he is terrified for her. The fate of all the werewolves hangs in the balance. This story features an original mythology about the werewolves.
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Series: A Werewolf is a Human Being [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663597
Kudos: 10





	1. Lupin the Human

He put his book down, stood up, and drew his wand. He pointed it at Severus and said, “ _Finite incantatum!”_ James and Sirius looked at him in astonishment. Unexpectedly released from the Impedimenta spell, Severus got to his feet and reached for his wand, but his own wand was still raised and pointed, and before Severus could aim at James or Sirius, he said, “ _Protego!”_ and the hexes from both sides bounced harmlessly against the shield. “That’s enough,” he said to his friends. “Gryffindors do not fight two on one, or attack people who are already down.” Lily Evans, who had walked up to see what was happening and put a stop to it, looked at him with new interest when she saw how calmly and courageously he had done it himself. She ignored Severus the Slytherin, who could no longer be friends with a Muggle-born witch. She ignored James, who was making a fool of himself as usual. She had eyes only for him. That kind, spirited, pretty girl was about to run into his arms…

There was a rude, jarring noise, and Remus Lupin rolled over on his mattress to make it stop. Too late, he was awake, and awareness of the grim reality of his life soon set in, made even crueler by the recent memory of a happy moment that had never existed. Why had he bothered to set his alarm? So he could get an early start looking with no experience and no references for a job among Muggles that he would not be able to do? Evening was the best time to return to the places where he had learned to scrape a living among Muggles, or to the only places in the Wizarding World where he did not expect to be rejected. No, he had set it because he had started having nightmares again, and he tended to have them in the early morning, or perhaps those were just the ones he remembered.

He had not had them for most of his recent year at Hogwarts, during which he had had the potion that kept him from attacking people. He had not had them much for years before that, and he had been hopeful that his practice of Apparating to a remote place was serving its intended purpose. He did not remember his transformation at the end of the year, but the kids told him that Padfoot had controlled him and that he had not harmed anyone. There had not yet been another full moon since then, but it was fast approaching. It was likely the knowledge of the last transformation that had triggered them, for it had been at the school of all places, and the knowledge that he had wanted to attack those kids was horrifying.

Lupin had already had a heavy burden of guilt about endangering people at the school, and he had no longer been able to bear it. He had some relief when making the unselfish decision to resign his post, for he thought in that moment that perhaps he would be forgiven. Only after he left did he look to the future and realize what losing the best job he had ever had at the only place where he had ever been happy would mean for his life. For after one year of meaningful and well-paid work, the only such year he had ever had, it was all the harder to face going back to the poor, lonely, dangerous, and deceptive life that he had been living before. His dreams had been broken in his youth, but some part of him had not given up hope. Now he knew that he had none, for he would never have another such opportunity to come back.

He had retreated again to Muggle London, where he had lived for many years, because Muggles did not believe in werewolves, and therefore would be less likely to respond to him with the hostility that he usually saw from witches and wizards who knew. He imagined that by this time everyone in the Wizarding World knew, since everyone sent their kids to Hogwarts, and all the students had no doubt told their parents the exciting news that their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin, had been a werewolf. He hoped that Dumbledore would not be blamed too much for this.

There was a rap at the window of his room in the Muggle rooming house where he was staying, and he saw a tawny owl with what looked like a letter in his beak. He hurriedly opened the window to let him in, glancing up and down the street and seeing to his relief that it was empty. The owl dropped the letter on his lap, jumped on his shoulder, and pecked at his nose. He picked up the letter and saw that it was addressed in Dumbledore’s elegant handwriting. It must be his promised severance pay.

He took out the note and saw to his surprise that it was for a sum equal to what his pay would have been for another six months. There was another note in the envelope, on which Dumbledore had written:

_Don’t disappear, Remus. I may have work for you in the future that no one else can do._

Two weeks earlier, when he had appeared in the headmaster’s office to submit his resignation, Dumbledore had looked sad but as if he had been expecting it and was not disposed to disagree. Lupin was sure that Dumbledore must be angry at him about a number of things that Lupin did not much want to discuss, and Dumbledore may have realized it, for he did not discuss them either. He only told Lupin that he would arrange for a carriage to pick him up, and said, “Write to me when you have an address, Remus, and I will send you a note for your severance pay.” Lupin hadn’t even dared to ask the amount. Somehow his usual street smarts vanished and he always felt like a schoolboy in the headmaster’s presence. The word “severance” had sounded unpleasantly like “Severus,” and he continued to feel grimly how the two concepts were linked.

So here it was. Dumbledore probably gave him so much because he knew how difficult it was for Lupin to find work. Maybe he hadn’t told him the amount because he didn’t think Lupin would have accepted it. Professor Lupin might not have, but Lupin the tramp was glad to have anything he could get his hands on. But what could Dumbledore mean, he might have work for him in the future? What work could Dumbledore have for him except at Hogwarts, where he could never work again? When was the future, might he ask? Why did Dumbledore have to be so bloody mysterious?

Lupin already had some money that he had carefully saved over the past year. When he had first arrived the landlady had looked a bit doubtful at his shabby appearance, but seemed reassured when he paid up front for the first month and said that he was a teacher who had recently been laid off from a school up north and had come to find work in the city. Since he tended to rise early and could often be seen reading, including the papers, she had no reason to doubt him, in fact she rather liked his sort. She had noticed with some concern during the second week that dark circles were forming under his eyes and he was starting to look anxious and depressed, and she assumed that his job search was not going well and that he was too easily discouraged.

“Good morning, Mr. Lupin,” she said bracingly when he appeared downstairs. “It looks to be a nice day, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, very nice,” he agreed, looking out the window for the second time at a quiet street lit by the morning sun.

“Help yourself to some breakfast,” she said, indicating the sideboard, on which was an array of coffee, tea, buns, butter, jam, cheese and fruit.

“Thank you,” he said, helping himself and eating hurriedly, for he was anxious to get outside, where he imagined his thoughts would be less depressed. For although it was a great relief to have money, he knew that the relief was temporary, and that the fundamental problems of his life had no solution.

He walked out into the street, and turned into a busier street, and then into another that led in the direction of a local library. He found walking and reading fantasy and children’s books to be two activities that helped him keep his head above water. He had always enjoyed the way imaginative Muggles wrote about magical phenomena, from seeds of knowledge that had been planted here and there, mostly in long distant times. Exposure to the real thing long ago had led to certain conventional ideas of magic that the Muggles assumed were not real and yet agreed to pretend to believe in for the purpose of spinning their own yarns around them, which they did with admirable spirit and invention.

“Oy! Magic Man!” called a shabby-looking old man across the street, as if in answer to his thoughts. Although he did not recognize the man, he smiled and waved, for he remembered the name, associated with a hundred scenes he could vaguely remember, mostly in dark and low places, dimly seen as if through a rain-washed window, or more accurately a beer-washed glass.

As he walked, Lupin found himself mulling over the path that had taken him from being the first werewolf ever graduated in that state from Hogwarts, using the best of his considerable magic to fight the world’s worst Dark Wizard, to being an anonymous wizard in hiding making a living by pretending to be a Muggle magician doing magic tricks for Muggles.

It began on the second most fateful night of his life, the night that Voldemort disappeared, when Lupin had effectively lost all his friends in one fell swoop. In the weeks that followed, while the rest of the Wizarding World was celebrating the end of the war, Lupin was engulfed in personal tragedy. James and Lily dead? Peter dead? Sirius a lifer in Azkaban? Sirius had betrayed them? Little Harry Potter an orphan, to be raised by Muggles? If Lupin had not been a werewolf, he would have offered to take in the boy himself, but Dumbledore had made up his mind anyway.

Lupin was in shock, but he knew he had to get on with his life. Many witches and wizards had died, and there was much rebuilding to be done. The Ministry of Magic had been especially hard hit, since many of its employees had been under the Imperius Curse, and some had become unable to do their jobs or died fighting on one side or the other. The Ministry was hiring in all departments, and there was talk of setting up an office of Werewolf Support Services in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Like his friends, Lupin had done well in school, and he thought he would be especially well qualified to help with this project, having had some experience of living successfully in the mainstream world in spite of being a werewolf himself. But when he applied to the Ministry, he received a letter back saying that they were not hiring non-human beings at this time, and that since they did not find his name on the Werewolf Registry in the Beast Division, he should register there at once.

Lupin had been graduated from Hogwarts with five N.E.W.T.s. He was a veteran of the war. He was in his human form ninety-eight percent of the time. And the Ministry had called him a “non-human being” and told him to register in the Beast Division, the same division that he knew had an office for “Werewolf Capture,” something that he thought he might play a part in phasing out. Why did they want him to register? If it would help him, his parents or Dumbledore would probably have registered him. No doubt the purpose was to make it easier for them to track, capture, regulate and control him. They only wanted him to be an object of the department’s operations, not a contributor to them. What they had in mind for the “regulation and control” of werewolves, he did not even want to know. This episode lodged in him a detestation of the Ministry of Magic that left traces on him for the rest of his life.

When he applied for jobs after that, he knew better than to tell them that he was a werewolf, but somehow the news always caught up with him, and invariably resulted in the loss of his job. Once his employer had told him outright the reason for his dismissal, but the others had found some other pretext, although they knew perfectly well that he knew the truth. Witches were afraid to go out with him if they knew, and when he became involved with one without telling her, she was particularly terrified when she found out, because she was afraid that if she broke it off he would come and get her in his wolf state for revenge. He had to break it off himself, and gave up trying, because he could not stand for anyone, least of all a woman, to look at him with such fear.

He did not get over the loss of his school friends but missed them more and more as his rejections in the outside world mounted. He did remember how at school werewolves had been a subject in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and how there had been some information on capturing and killing them, and how his friends had ribbed him about it and they had treated it all as a joke. It had never really occurred to him that this had applied to him, and it was a devastating shock to find out that in the real world most witches and wizards did think he was a Dark Creature, not a human being with a “little furry problem” as his friends had affectionately called it.

Soon he no longer remembered what happened when he was in his wolf state, unlike at school, when in his human form he had remembered his wanderings with the Marauders. He knew that this probably meant that the knowledge of what he was doing now was unbearable to him. He began to have nightmares about attacking people, which he knew were probably memories of what he was really doing. After leaving Hogwarts, when they were in the Order of the Phoenix, Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail had still accompanied him when he transformed. Though they were no longer near the school, they did occasionally encounter someone in the forest, but his friends still kept others safe from him. After the loss of his friends, in his bewilderment and his grief, it did not occur to him that there was any way to make his transformations safer to others.

As things got worse, he took to numbing himself with a continuous intake of butterbeer. Although butterbeer in moderate quantities was not intoxicating to humans, it was so in the quantity that Lupin drank it, and he was sensitive to intoxicating substances. There was hardly a waking moment when he did not have one in his hand. And at some point he decided that mainstream wizarding society had no use for him, and he might as well go seek out the other werewolves.

Since no one wanted to employ them, the werewolves mostly supported themselves with criminal activities such as smuggling, theft, and reselling of stolen merchandise, although they also did some trading amongst themselves. They socialized in a large underground drinking hole off Knockturn Alley that they called the Den. Here they mostly drank firewhiskey, gambled at various games, and laughed at the world from which they had been excluded. Most werewolves, unlike Lupin, had some waking memory of themselves in their wolf state, and had come to terms with their attacking of humans. There was a complete absence of women among them, which Lupin did not understand, for he was sure that women and girls sometimes were bitten. This was something about which he got a powerful sense that he was forbidden to inquire.

Humans could be bitten at any stage of life and so become werewolves, so there were others who, like Lupin, had been socialized as regular humans, and yet they were not like Lupin. There were wizards who, like Lupin, had attended Hogwarts in their youth, but unlike Lupin, had been bitten as adults. Eventually Lupin figured out why he was different from the other werewolves. For he had been accepted to Hogwarts as a werewolf and socialized among non-werewolf human friends who had loved him in spite of knowing what he was. The other werewolves had experienced nothing but rejection from non-werewolf humans once they became werewolves, so they eventually lost their sense of obligation to protect other humans from their attack. Lupin’s early experience had left some shred of hope that he would not relinquish: the hope that someday, somehow, he would be accepted into regular wizarding society again.

He was afraid to slip too far into the world of other werewolves, because he was afraid he would become like them and lose the conscience that it was wrong to eat other humans or turn them into werewolves. If he did, he thought that a door would be forever closed behind him, a door through which he still thought he saw some little shaft of light. He also found it necessary to be drinking butterbeer in every waking moment, and thought that firewhiskey, if drunk in such a quantity, would literally kill him.

So he supported himself for a while in the criminal underground of the Wizarding World, in which he got some help from his former war comrade Mundungus Fletcher. He started to distance himself from the other werewolves, and they became rather cool to him too, for they knew he thought their values were not as good as his. He was also afraid of slipping too far into a life of crime, because he did not want to harm anyone, and he had not forgotten that he had had as fine an education as any wizard in Britain. He eventually realized there was a more harmless racket for him in the Muggle world, for he had an uncanny ability to entertain Muggles with magic tricks. They would not know he was a werewolf, since Muggles did not believe werewolves really existed. So to the Muggle world Lupin drifted.

He became a member of a traveling carnival show, which mostly consisted of a family, and there was a daughter of the family who was about his age, and they took a liking to each other and became lovers. So for a little while Lupin was in heaven, for he was in a relationship with a woman who was not afraid of him. But she was not stupid, and soon realized that he was hiding things from her. He was much more anxious to avoid a pregnancy than she was, for the family had assured them that a baby would be welcome and well taken care of, but Lupin had never heard of a werewolf fathering a child, and he was afraid the child might have werewolf characteristics. She thought it meant that he was planning to leave her at some point, and she thought he should tell her so.

Even worse were his monthly disappearances at the time of the full moon. She thought that he must be observing some pagan rite or celebration, and since they were all as weird as he was, she didn’t understand why he wouldn’t include her in it. When he insisted that it was something he must do alone, she began to suspect that he was cheating on her. When he finally told her the truth, she was furious that he would insult her with such a ridiculous alibi. The rest of the family was also angry at his lying to her, and they threw him out.

By this time it came as no surprise to Lupin to lose either his job or his girlfriend, though this was the first time he had achieved both at exactly the same time. He took his broken heart and his magic act to Muggle London, where he soon became a popular figure in the pubs and on the street, for he was an affable fellow, and he carefully restricted his act to the sorts of things that Muggles would not believe impossible for a performing magician, but only believe him to be exceptionally good at. Sometimes a jealous Muggle would violently threaten him for the secrets of his act. If this happened in company he found out it was best to let others defend him, because otherwise he would have been too tempted to defend himself with magic, since this he could have done easily and effectively without harming his assailant. Others did defend him, since most of his audience did not think anyone should steal his act. The fact that he never showed fear or anger at these incidents, but always treated them with mocking good humor, enhanced his image both of cool confidence and of geniality.

He always kept his wand ready under his cloak, and if anyone approached him with a knife when he was alone in an alley, he would expel the man’s weapon and Accio it into his hand, and the man would run away terrified, sure that Lupin would do something that he had no intention of doing. This did not endanger Lupin’s secret, since the man would not want to tell anyone that he had approached Lupin with a weapon, and if he told them what really happened, they would not believe him anyway. Lupin stayed in low places among low company, while instinctively managing to avoid really dangerous people, and he was too far beneath the notice of the Ministry of Magic for them to swoop down on him for violating the Wizarding Statute of Secrecy.

At some point he realized that he could at least try to make his transformations less dangerous to others by first Apparating to places that were farther from human habitation, bogs and moors and faraway forests where he hoped he might wander all night without finding any prey, although he feared that no places in Britain were far enough from human habitation for a swift and powerful animal looking for prey. He also realized that if he was to avoid hurting others, relationships with women were impossible for him, but there were many women in the Muggle world who would sleep with men for money, and prostitutes would not need to know much about him or expect him to stay with them. Once in a while he made enough to pay someone.

He had a great deal of empathy for lower-class prostitutes, who seemed to be in a position he knew well, on the fringes of society, lonely, looked down on, and unsafe. It saddened him that he could not be closer to them for the very reasons he sought them out, because they would not stay with him and because they did not need to know his secrets, nor he theirs. He knew that their heart was not in their work, which they usually considered a tiresome chore, even if they pretended otherwise. He usually doubted whether his attempts at tenderness were appreciated, let alone reciprocated.

Sometimes in the company of men he heard them talk of how desirable it was to have a different woman as often as possible, or boast of seducing women and ducking out of relationships with them, or talk of losing girlfriends as if they were inanimate objects of little value. He heard married men talk of marriage as a prison into which their wives had lured them, denigrate their wives and boast of their cleverness at deceiving them. And resentment roiled inside of Lupin, for they apparently chose to reject the thing he wanted most but could not have: a love relationship. Why then was _he_ the werewolf, and not they?

He usually woke up from his werewolf nightmares cold and trembling, but once he woke up from one finding to his horror that he had been biting his pillow. He was not sure that his bite was not dangerous even when he was not transformed, and thought he might never be able to sleep with another person without endangering her, and once again he threw up the whole business.

But Lupin was only human, at least most of the time, and a few years later during one of his street performances a pretty woman caught his eye. She had been looking at him in such an arch and knowing way that he thought she might have seen right through his act, if it was possible for such a person to believe in genuine wizards. But he soon found out that she was hoping to be paid to go home with him, and he was both pleased and saddened, because she seemed very intelligent, and he thought she might be able to do better for herself. He wished he could try to go out with her in the normal way, but he had sworn off all seductions, since they invariably led to hurt feelings, and she must need the money, or she wouldn’t ask for it. His good impression of her increased as the evening wore on, and he could tell that his attempt at tenderness was being genuinely reciprocated. And finally a question popped out of him that he had learned never to ask: why was she prostituting herself?

She sighed. “I’m an aspiring writer, and I can’t get published. I can’t help myself spending most of my time writing fiction of a kind that there seems to be no market for. I’ve gotten into debt, and I found out this was the quickest way I could make a bunch of money. I couldn’t find a job in time, with unemployment so high. But what about you? Why isn’t as nice a guy as you in a relationship? Don’t you know you have a lot to offer besides money?”

“I am a werewolf,” he said sadly. “I can’t stay anywhere for a month.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, playfully punching him. “That isn’t fair. I told you the truth about myself. You must do the same.”

“I am a werewolf,” he repeated, looking at her seriously. “I am also a wizard.” And he began to tell her his story, as far as he could remember it, and she listened with increasing fascination until the sun was well up. Then she said she had to go, because she needed to eat and sleep and move on her hopeless career, but could she come back tonight, because she wanted to hear more?

“Of course,” said Lupin, but after she left it occurred to him that if she took him seriously this might be dangerous. He had never told his real story to a Muggle before, but he wanted to tell it to her. She came back every night for two weeks and listened with rapt attention and obvious enjoyment as he told her all about the magical world, more about his time at Hogwarts and his Animagus friends, about Diagon Alley lurking in London, about magical creatures and potions, about anything interesting he could think of, including the fight against Voldemort. This she approved because it was an obvious play on Hitler and the Nazis, and she was delighted that not only was he anti-fascist and anti-racist, but that he pointed to the complicity of the aristocracy in supporting fascism, and the reluctance of many establishment people to stand up to it, which meant he was not simply mouthing the party line.

“You are so good!” she said at the end of two weeks. “You’re like Scheherazade! I would have come back every night to hear this even if you hadn’t paid me!”

“That wouldn’t have been fair. I know you need the money.”

“But seriously, I mean it. You should be a writer of children’s books. You should write this all down and publish it. I swear you would sell a million copies! I know some publishers I could refer you to.”

“I can’t publish it. In fact, you must never repeat to anyone what I have told you.” And he told her about the Wizarding Statute of Secrecy, how it had come about, and how it was enforced.

“Brilliant,” she said, clapping, “absolutely brilliant!” For by this time she was convinced that he was a genius.

“You have to start the book that way, because everyone likes to think they are special. You should start with ‘You must never repeat to anyone what you read in these pages,’ and then tell about the wizarding code of secrecy. The kids will be hooked right from the start!”

He was relieved to be assured that to the end she never doubted that he had made the whole thing up.

“You could really be a successful writer,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “I can help you get started, and when you have a good living, you can marry me, and I won’t have any more awful jobs, and I’ll get published too. And when we have kids, we can read our stories to our kids—in fact you can simply tell them without—”

But she stopped, because he had turned away to hide his face from her, and she did not know what he was hiding.

“I have to leave tomorrow,” he said in a shaking voice. “Tomorrow night is the full moon.”

“Oh, I understand,” she said in a tone of wounded pride, “I understand perfectly.” And she hastily gathered up her things and walked out the door.

Lupin flung himself face down on the bed and wept. He wept uncontrollably until the following afternoon, when he took himself to a lonely field and concentrated on Disapparating farther than he ever had before, to a rocky outcropping on the north coast of Scotland. He splinched his leg, and as he leaned against the rock, wounded in body and soul, he stared up at the rising moon as if daring it to frighten him, for he thought his sorrow was beyond the penetration of fear. And for the first time in his life, he thought he saw the man in the moon beaming at him in companionship. And his moan of pain turned to the howl of a wolf…

***

He had been so preoccupied with his memories that he had wandered far from his route to the library and farther east, toward the site of many of his old haunts from those other days.

“It’s true!” said a man’s voice on the other side of the street, at the end of the block. “He’s back!” Lupin looked over and saw that a gaggle of poor and eccentric-looking Muggles were staring at him.

“Paddy told us you were back,” said an older woman with untidy hair that looked rather matted, who seemed cheered to see him. “He never lies.”

“Eh, Magique Man!” greeted someone else.

“Are you a magician?” said a young woman in black clothes with hair dyed jet black and rings in her ears, nose and eyebrows. “ _Excellent!_ ”

“Hey Magic Man, are you still a werewolf?” said a man, winking.

“Of course,” said Lupin, winking back. “It’s waxing three-quarters. I have to get on the ball.” He had never hesitated to tell these people he was a werewolf, because they found his consistence in maintaining this, combined with his monthly disappearances, to be an excellent practical joke.

“Come with us!” someone said. “We’re going to the cinema!”

“Yes, with us!” said someone else.

Lupin’s heart was warmed. He knew better than to wonder why they had nothing to do but go to the cinema on a Tuesday afternoon. It occurred to him that he had money and could treat them all. But fortunately, before he opened his mouth, he remembered that he first had to go to Diagon Alley, deposit Dumbledore’s note at Gringotts, and make a withdrawal in the form of Muggle money.

“Not now,” he said, grinning. “I’m after a big prize this afternoon. But meet me at George’s pub tonight, and I’ll buy drinks for you all.”

“A prize, eh? Nothing shady, I 'ope, fur-face? 'Aven’t descended into a life of crime, 'ave ya? Is that why we haven’t seen you for so long? Been in jail?”

“You wound me. I’ve been hired by a rich family to perform at their daughter’s wedding. I drove a hard bargain, because they know I’m the finest magician in town.” And he added in a stage whisper, “They don’t know I’m a werewolf.”

“Tonight, then! See you at George’s around eight!”

***

Someone handed a battered-looking Fedora across the table.

“Find anything in here, Magic Man?”

Lupin pulled out his wand and pointed it into the hat, concentrating hard and muttering an incantation. He reached in, pulled out a live mouse, and dangled it by the tail in front of his audience. A few people applauded.

“And what am I bid for this beauty?” he said humorously, for mice were plentiful and nobody wanted them.

“Sixpence,” said one man.

“Ten pence,” said another. “It will be a treat most appreciated by my kitty.”

“Half a crown!” said another. “I have a kitty too!”

“Half a crown it is,” said Lupin, and carefully handed the mouse across the table to the man. Other people started throwing coins into the hat.

Lupin had found his favorite Muggle ale again, and so the night wore on. But as it loosened his feelings, there came a moment when, looking into the faces of all these strangers who considered him a good joke, he knew he had to see the one person alive who knew what he really was and still loved him with his whole heart.

“Sirius,” he said aloud, “I must see Sirius.”

“It’s easy to see Sirius, mate,” someone said. “It’s the brightest star in the sky.”

“As long as the moon ain’t too damn bright,” said a witty fellow, winking at the other.

Lupin had turned pale and pushed himself away from the table.

***

It was the third night he had come home drunk, and the landlady was worried. He had such an increasingly anguished demeanor that she suspected that this was not just a bit of revelry. Most teachers had their summers off; surely an unemployed teacher would not be so demoralized because he hadn’t found a job in two weeks. She was beginning to suspect that he was an alcoholic, and that that was why he had lost his previous job. She had known nice people who were alcoholics, and she felt very sorry for them, but unfortunately she couldn’t let them stay in her house, because it caused problems for the other lodgers. She hoped he would get back on his feet before it came to this. She had some literature from AA and she put it in his mailbox, just in case he didn’t know where to find them, since he had come from out of town.

***

Lupin sat in his room again, brooding on the near impossibility of finding Sirius and visiting him without giving him away. Why did Sirius still have to be a fugitive? Suddenly he felt a surge of rage and resentment toward that mad dog who had been more interested in killing Peter Pettigrew than in explaining himself to anyone and clearing his own name. Even his beloved Harry would not have known the truth if Lupin hadn’t come into the Shrieking Shack that night and insisted, over Sirius’s impatient objections, on telling the kids their story. If Sirius hadn’t broken into the castle with a knife, terrorizing everyone, he might be a free man today, and Lupin might still have a job. And the way he dragged poor Ron under the Whomping Willow, breaking his leg, before those bewildered kids had a clue what was going on…

Maybe he should cut Sirius some slack because Sirius had just spent twelve years in Azkaban, where most people did lose their minds. But hadn’t he always been the same? Lupin remembered secretly feeling the same rage at his friend at school when he found out that thanks to Sirius, Severus had nearly followed him to the Shrieking Shack at the time of one of his transformations. Sirius had been so keen to get back at Severus that he had not even _considered_ what it would have meant for Lupin if he had killed another student. That selfish, reckless, insensitive…Lupin picked up a pillow and threw it across the room. Sirius had the option of controlling himself and never chose to, while he, Remus Lupin, had always had to walk on eggshells—he threw the other pillow and it hit a vase of flowers on the chest of drawers, causing it to fall to the floor and break with a resounding crash—on _eggshells_ because of a condition that was completely beyond his control.

But maybe Sirius was right that it was Severus’s own fault, because Severus already suspected that he was a werewolf, and yet that crazy creep would risk his life following him, just in the hope of getting them all expelled. And he was the same on the night of the Shrieking Shack. If he had just gone to Lupin’s office with the potion, how could he forget, if he was going to follow them, to conjure a flask and bring it with him? Because he was so hot to throw Sirius and hopefully Lupin to the dementors that he forgot about everything else. All he had on his mind that night was revenge, not the kids’ lives or his own, let alone finding out the truth about who was a murderer and who was working for Voldemort. Sirius and Severus were really the same, willing to throw their lives away for revenge, wanting to kill for revenge, while he, Remus Lupin, who never wanted to harm a hair on anyone’s head, why did _he_ have to be the dreaded werewolf?

But wait a minute. He was not innocent. He had been about to join Sirius in killing Peter and destroying their best evidence that Sirius was innocent. Maybe Harry shouldn’t have stopped them, because Peter escaped. But Peter escaped because of Lupin’s transformation, which ruined everything. It was his responsibility, not Severus’s, to remember that he was going to transform. It was he who had run out after Peter and the kids, forgetting all about the potion. If Sirius had not dragged Ron into the Shrieking Shack and the other kids had not followed, they would have been alone with him when he transformed, and he would have bitten or eaten them all! What was Ron’s broken leg compared with that? And it was his fault that Sirius gave Severus the key to the Whomping Willow, because _he had given it to Sirius!_ He was not supposed to tell anyone. Dumbledore had trusted him! How could he have trusted a madman like Sirius? It was his own fault, his own fault, miserable, wretched beast…

There was a sharp rap at the door, and Lupin suddenly realized that he had been banging his head against the wall. He froze, then cautiously opened the door.

“ _Mister_ Lupin,” said the landlady, “what in heaven’s name is going on in here?”

He looked over at the remains of the vase on the floor. “I accidentally broke a vase, I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for it directly. Just tell me how much.”

“Mr. Lupin,” she continued, with a look demanding that he drop all attempt at pretense, “I cannot have drunkenness in this house. I’m sorry, but it will drive away my other lodgers. This is a quiet, respectable establishment. If you come home drunk one more time, I will ask you to look for other accommodations.”

He sat on the bed, suddenly looking very sober. “Just give me one more chance. Let me sleep tonight, and please let me talk to you in the morning. I understand your position.”

She looked relieved. “Yes, try to get a good night’s sleep, Mr. Lupin,” she said in an almost maternal tone, “and please let’s talk in the morning. If you will make the effort, I am quite willing to work with you, for you are a nice fellow.”

***

He sat across the table from the landlady, sharing a pot of tea.

“I think it would be best if I go back up north for a couple of days, because I find a walk in the country does more to clear my head than anything. I still have friends up there. I’ve fallen into the wrong company here, and I would like to come back and make a fresh start. I need to stay clear of some places I frequented when I lived in town before.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea, Mr. Lupin. I’ll look forward to seeing you when you get back. You know where to find the train schedules, I expect?”

***

Long distance Apparating, along with his transformations, had taken a great physical toll on Lupin, and he sometimes took a train north from London so he would only have to Apparate part of the way. His final destination was now the edge of a forest in the Northwest Highlands of Scotland. He took the train north, pretending to be a Muggle on a pleasant trip, sometimes, as in the past, thinking that maybe he was only what he pretended to be, and postponing as much as possible his awareness of the frightening reality. He spent the night in a bed and breakfast in Edinburgh, and the following day hiking to a place where he could not be seen Disapparating, which he did as evening came on. He arrived under a pine tree by a brook at the edge of his magical forest, and piled his clothes by the tree, where he expected to find them again when he returned to his human state.


	2. Lupin the Wolf

When Lupin the werewolf came to himself at the edge of the magical northern forest, he realized from the growth of the vegetation and from other subtle changes that he had not been there for considerably more than a month. It was summer, but a little earlier in the summer than the last time, so he realized that he had been gone for almost a year. He had no memory of the time in between, except a very strange one that he thought must be impossible, and he wondered whether he had imagined it.

He had imagined being at the site of his ancient wanderings with his three animal friends, the stag, the dog, and the rat. The memories of those wanderings were his earliest and happiest, for those animals had been the best and most loyal friends he had ever had. He had been a young werewolf then, and those had been his formative years. But while those memories were happy, the recent one was of a very unhappy scene. The dog and the rat were there, but the stag was not. Lupin had been shackled, and he realized that the humans must have captured him and not realized that he would break free when he transformed into his normal state. For the first time in many years he had smelled humans, and it had awakened an old instinct in him that had been suppressed for years. The great black dog was there, and he had been bewildered to find out that the dog was still alive, because that meant that all those years ago the dog, whom he had presumed dead, had in fact abandoned him.

He had been a captive, but the dog had been free, and he realized it might have been the dog who had betrayed him to humans. It was unbearable to Lupin to think that the dog, whom he had loved, had abandoned and betrayed him. The dog had attacked him, and he had fought back bitterly, and then run away to seek solace in his old forest. Before he fled to the forest, he had recognized the smell of the rat, and smelled that he was terrified, and caught a glimpse of him running away. He hoped this memory was not real, but something his mind had made up. But why would he have made up such a miserable dream about the place where he had been happiest in his life?

He was sure that the earlier memories were real, for he had had them all his adult life, and he knew from his memories of the changing seasons that they had covered a span of years. He used to come to himself in some kind of human-made shelter, and the dog, the stag and the rat would soon join him, and they would set off happily for a night of exploring. There was a human village ringed by rocky mountains, and a fabulous forest with many magical creatures in it. On the other side of the forest there was a human castle and a lake with a giant sea creature in it, and he knew that many human young were there, not the youngest, but those not yet fully grown. Lupin and his friends explored the region, though they stayed away from the castle side, and he came to know and love every detail of the area, and yet the excitement never abated, for every night, no matter how much they knew, there was always something new to be discovered.

The stag and the dog always steered him away from humans, and even fought with him if one came close enough for him to bite. It was a frustration of an instinct of Lupin’s, but for him it was a small price to pay for the companionship of his friends. For he later found that animals of other species either fled from him or ignored him, and that no werewolf would keep him company all night even once, let alone every night, month after month, for years.

There came a time when he and his friends started appearing in other forests farther south, and Lupin no longer saw the old places, which were the places he loved the best. But the new forests were also full of life, and he enjoyed them. The human young were not there, so his friends were able to go a bit easier with him. The dog, which was almost as big as a bear, was always in high spirits, and Lupin had known, or thought he had known, that he was a free animal and would never be under the control of humans, as most dogs were.

Then one night he came to himself in one of the familiar forests, but the dog, the stag, and the rat were nowhere to be seen. He was sure they could not be far away. He howled so that they could find him, but they did not come. He howled louder, but still they did not come. He howled and howled, but they did not come. He started to wander around, trying to sniff out their trails, and he found the trails of other animals, but not those of his friends. And other animals ran away, frightened by his howling. And the next month it was the same, and the next, and the next, and at some point Lupin finally realized that the animals would never come again. He thought that the animals must be dead. And in his bewilderment and his grief, he did not bother to sniff out the trails of humans.

Then one night he wandered into the forest from a nearby meadow. A pale moon had just risen, and Lupin was himself, but it was still quite light in the meadow. He thought he caught the smell of deer, and sure enough, although the forest was already dark, he saw a stag a little farther in, between the trees. His heart leapt. Could it be his friend, come back to find him after all? No, it was a different stag, he realized as he approached. And as he approached he also saw that the stag was terrified. Was the stag afraid of him? He would never hurt a stag. He looked around, and finally back at the meadow. And then he saw them.

First the pack of slave dogs, the kind who had been trained to jump at every command of their masters. Then the humans on their enslaved horses, whom they forced to carry them on their backs. A man led the pack of humans, carrying one of those deadly weapons humans had because they were too cowardly to fight other animals with their own hands. Such a gang to hunt down one animal who was no threat to them, and whose flesh they did not need. For Lupin could see that these humans were more than well-fed.

He heard the humans laugh and shout with glee, and saw the greedy bloodlust in their faces, especially in the face of the evil man who led them. This must be how his friend had died! He saw the man move within range of the stag and raise his weapon, but before he could aim, Lupin sprang from the undergrowth and sank his teeth into the man’s throat. The other humans screamed in terror and dispersed, though another one with a weapon fired a shot at him and missed. Lupin knocked his prey off his horse and broke his back, but from the neck wound he was already dead. And Lupin feasted on the dead man’s flesh.

In the nights that followed, Lupin rambled into forests that were frequented by other werewolves, and he was able to talk to them, and they told him many things, for unlike Lupin, they remembered something of themselves in their human state. Lupin remembered nothing but his name, Remus Lupin, which he was sure was the same, for no animal would have given him a two-part name. They told him that the bright round disc he always saw in the sky did not always appear that way, but went through phases with twenty-eight nights in between, and that in between those nights there were days with a yellow, much brighter light in the sky. The moon cycled from darkness to an increasing crescent to a half disc increasing to the full one he knew, and then decreased back again, and the cycle was always repeated. They were only wolves when the moon was full, but the rest of the time they were humans. And Lupin was sick at heart to hear that most of the time he was a human.

For it did not take him long to see that besides being the most powerful, humans were the greediest, cruelest, and most destructive animals in the land. They had enslaved countless other animals to work for them, carry them on their backs, and above all to provide them with much more animal food than they needed, since humans were omnivores. More food for some of them, anyway, because Lupin also noticed that some accumulated much more than they needed, while others went hungry. He learned that the land had once been covered with forest, and that the humans had cut down almost all the trees in order to amass more land and tree wood for themselves. They also created destructive devices that they used not only against other animals, but also in killing sprees against each other.

Other animals co-existed, taking only what they needed, but humans in their reckless greed were continuing to destroy the wild places, which were the only home of the other animals. Lupin learned that there had once been animals a little like werewolves, only they were in their natural state all the time, not just once a month, and they stayed together in large extended families. There were females among them, and the wolves mated and had little pups, and the grown wolves took care of the pups together, as well as hunting together. And long ago, more years than anyone could count, the greedy and vengeful humans had either enslaved them into dogs or eradicated them from the land.

Although those wolves had seldom attacked humans, they had sometimes attacked their enslaved animals, and the humans had killed the wolves with their typical excess of vindictiveness, and also destroyed their habitat. Today animals did not hunt humans, for they knew humans were the most dangerous game. If an animal attacked a human, the response might be the annihilation of the species in the whole area. Only werewolves could hunt humans, for they were difficult for humans to kill. So Lupin’s path was clear, for his reason coincided with his instinct. He would be the avenger of the wolves. He would be the defender of the wild places. He would take responsibility for doing what the other animals could not. _He would hunt humans only_.

The early part of the night was the best time for hunting, for the later it was the less likely humans were to wander into the woods, although it sometimes happened. Werewolves were solitary hunters, but sometimes in the later part of the night some of them would congregate in a clearing and chat a little. They explained to Lupin that if he bit a human but did not kill the human, the human would become another werewolf. They advised him to be discreet about hunting non-magical humans, whom they called Muggles, and to either kill them or drag them back through the forest, for there would be dire consequences if bitten ones returned to the Muggles and the Muggles found out that werewolves really existed. They also warned Lupin that if he caught a female human, he should be sure to kill and eat her, and the meat was especially tasty, but if she ever escaped with just a bite, he had better run for his life. Lupin did not quite understand either of these things but imagined they would become clearer in time.

But although he was now free to satisfy his natural instinct, Lupin was not satisfied but sad and lonely. He never stopped missing his old animal friends. He felt that he was somehow different from the other werewolves, and eventually he thought that he understood the reason why. None of them had had a formative experience such as his. In their wolf state they had never been anything but solitary hunters, and their greatest pleasure was in the hunt. Lupin was a social animal even in his wolf state, and valued companionship more than the hunt, for his happiest times had been with friends who had not let him hunt, such friends as no other werewolf had ever had. And he wished that he could be a regular wolf in a wolf pack, and not be alone, and perhaps even be allowed to mate, and to take care of pups. But this was even more fruitless than wishing for his old friends, for the wolves had disappeared much longer ago.

The little company that Lupin obtained from the other werewolves was marred by the frequent presence of a werewolf whom he dreaded and loathed for some reason that he did not quite understand, a werewolf by the name of Fenrir Greyback. There were obvious reasons for disliking Greyback, for he was a big aggressive bully, and many other werewolves did not care for him either. He had won fights with most of them, although werewolves did not like to fight amongst themselves, and he thought this had made him the leader of the pack, even though there was no pack. Lupin disliked the fact that he preferred to hunt human young, and boasted of using them as bait to catch their parents as well, because Lupin thought that the instinct of humans to protect their young was one of the few decent animal instincts that humans had left. Lupin avoided Greyback so much that the other werewolves thought him rather a coward.

But before long Lupin did not ever see Greyback, or the other werewolves either, because his perverse human counterpart took to the practice of making him appear in a different place almost every night, some place where he seldom found human prey or other werewolves. Sometimes it was an area where the ground was saturated and covered with decaying vegetation, and he could not run fast. Sometimes it was farther north on some huge expanse of open, empty land, though in these places he did occasionally catch a human. Sometimes it was in the middle of a deep forest, and he might sniff out trails all night without finding one of a human. He knew he had to quit before the setting of the moon was near, for if a human saw him transform back he was sure the human would kill him.

He was hungry as well as lonely, for he could not let go of the sense that it was wrong to hunt other animals. How could he hunt deer, remembering the stag? How could he hunt rodents, remembering the rat? He knew his old animal friends would never come again, and yet what if they did, or if similar animals wanted to be his friends? They would not be safe with him anymore. Lupin was lost, and he felt that only the memory of his old friends gave him any sort of moral compass. So he dug holes, tore the bark off trees, and tried to eat plants, which made him sick.

Then one night he faced the newly risen moon from a ledge on a rocky coast slippery with sea mist. There were strange, shimmering lights in the sky, as well as the brilliant moon, but he could still make out from the position of objects in the sky that he was farther north than he had ever been before. He felt a sharp pain in his leg and a trickle of warm liquid down it. It was bleeding. He was wounded.

All he could see were the rocks and the ocean. The smell of the salted sea so filled his nose and the sound of the pounding waves so filled his ears that he could not sense whether any living thing was anywhere near. When he caught a moment of silence between the crashing of the waves, he did not hear any rustling of leaves from the land above. This place was very exposed. It was no place for a wounded animal. He could not climb up the rocks to the dry land above him. A werewolf is hard to kill, but Lupin thought that perhaps this time it was all over. He curled up in a flat area against the rock wall behind his ledge and licked his wound, and the cold, silent companion of his life beamed down on him.

But a wild animal does not just curl up and die, and after resting for some time, when the moon was starting to disappear behind the rocks beside him, Lupin decided to make the attempt to clamber up to the land above. Moving slowly and carefully he reached his goal, but when he did, a bleak vista met his eye.

There was flat land in front of him that farther back sloped into rolling hills, and he could make out the silhouette of mountains in the distance. There was no vegetation but short grass and patches of moss, and there were places where the rock underneath was exposed. There was not a bush, let alone a tree, and nothing was stirring. Yet Lupin sensed some strange kind of magic here.

When a breeze blew from the northwest he caught the scent of pine trees, and encouraged, he walked in that direction, though he could see nothing but the barren land. As he continued, favoring his wounded leg, he thought he heard the sound of running water, and soon after, much to his excitement, the hooting of an owl. Eventually he reached a place where the ground sloped down rather suddenly into a valley, and a beautiful scene came into view.

It was a forest, mostly of pine, but he could see leafy trees and plants there too, and the leaves seemed to glitter in the moonlight as the breeze slightly ruffled their positions. Between the trees he could make out brooks, which glimmered even more brightly. He could hear the scampering of small animals on the ground, and glimpse the movements of larger ones, and hear their soft tread. He managed to descend the hill, walking around at an angle, and as he did the sounds and smells became more powerful. Eventually he reached the shelter of the forest, and its ground was soft with a covering of pine needles. The owl was hooting again. He knew that this was a magical forest, for the magic he had sensed above was even stronger here, and how could a place so full of life be in the midst of such barrenness? Lupin had a strange feeling that he was being watched as he made his way into the forest.

Among many animal smells in the forest he thought he detected the smell of werewolves, yet it seemed somehow different. Could there be werewolves in this remote place? Then he came to the edge of a clearing, and what he saw made him stop in his tracks, and his heart beat faster. They looked more uniform in size and color. Their coats were white overlaid with grey. They were sitting together in what looked like an organized group, closer together than werewolves ever sat. The center of their attention was the largest male and the largest—female? Yes, he was sure there were females among them. Could it be? Was it possible? _Wolves!_

They saw him too. Legend had it that wolf packs sometimes would attack a stranger wolf, but they were looking at him with curiosity, not hostility. One of the males approached him, but when he got within twenty feet of Lupin he crouched and snarled. Lupin was puzzled. Would a wolf become hostile to him because he was wounded? Didn’t that only mean he was less of a threat? Then he suddenly understood. The wolf must have gotten close enough to see that he was a werewolf.

“What’s the matter, Needles?” said the alpha male sharply.

“He is a werewolf. A werewolf is a human in disguise.”

The wolves looked frightened. Some of them muttered that they must kill Lupin at once.

The alpha male barked for silence. “There are no roads here, and no humans have ever been able to find this place. Has anyone caught the scent of a human today?”

There was silence.

“We must question him, and find out how he came here. Where did you come from, werewolf?”

“I come from much farther south, where there are humans and werewolves, but no wolves.”

“How did you get here? How did you get your wound?”

“I don’t know,” said Lupin truthfully. “I appear wherever my human counterpart is at the time. I do not remember anything of my human life. I appeared on the rocky coast not far from here, and I was already wounded. I sometimes appear in places that are difficult for humans to access, though tonight I appeared at the most inaccessible place yet. I think my human counterpart must be a wizard.”

A few of the wolves laughed at this lame attempt at deception, but the alpha female was looking at him thoughtfully.

“Most likely his human counterpart is a wizard,” she said. “There are wizards on this great island, and I don’t see how else he could have arrived here. It is still fairly early in the night. But most werewolves do remember something of their human lives.”

“It is true, madam,” said Lupin, addressing her directly, for he already suspected she was the wisest wolf in the pack. “I am different from most werewolves in this way.”

“He is lying,” said Needles.

“Maybe he came from a shipwrecked boat,” said one of the females, “and other humans will come in a few days to rescue him. They may not know he is a werewolf. They may find us.”

There were a few growls and more calls for his death.

“Silence!” said the alpha male. “If humans are to come, killing this one will not accomplish anything.” He walked over to Lupin and started to sniff him. Lupin suspected that wolves had a great deal of protocol, and he did not know what to do. He lay down as the wolf examined him, hoping this would show adequate submission. The alpha male returned to his place.

“I smell no trace of humans on him. He has not been with other humans this past day.”

“A human could survive here for a couple of days. He may have been shipwrecked the day before.”

“I appeared completely alone,” said Lupin. “There was no human or human-made object anywhere on the horizon.” But he knew he had no way of proving this.

“This werewolf pretends he knows nothing of his human life. He lies to us. We must kill him.”

“Very well,” said Lupin, looking at the alpha female again. “Kill me if you must. But before I die, please let me ask one question. Down south they say there have been no wolves anywhere for more generations than anyone can count. I thought that humans, in their reckless greed and vengefulness, had killed them all. How is it that you have survived?”

He saw the demeanor of the wolves change, and he realized that this speech had gained their approval.

“We are the last wolf pack on this great island,” said the alpha male. “The humans do not know we are here. We stick close together and have managed to hide from them these many generations.”

“I have seen the destructiveness and greed of humans,” said Lupin. “I think I do not remember my life as a human because I cannot help being ashamed to be one. I always wished I could be a wolf all the time, and be in a wolf pack, for the life of a werewolf is a sad and lonely one. I thought it was impossible, because we thought the wolves were long gone. I can understand why you think you must kill me, but if you do, at least I will die with the consolation of knowing that you are still here.”

The wolves had been looking at him with increasing curiosity during this speech.

“What is your name, werewolf?” said the alpha male.

“Remus Lupin,” said Lupin with relief, for he was getting sick of being addressed as “werewolf.”

“That is a wolf name!” said the alpha male approvingly.

“Remus is a human name,” said the alpha female. “It is the name of one of the human children who was raised by wolves in the old legends.”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it,” said one of the females, “that if he is a werewolf, his name would be part human and part wolf?”

“But Lupin is his family name, and they named him Remus at his birth, before they knew he would be bitten, for that is how humans name their young,” said the alpha female, still looking at Lupin thoughtfully. “His family must have had something to do with wolves, even before he was born. They would not have given him that name when he was bitten, for they would not want to advertise the fact that he is a werewolf, nor would he. Humans have had no love for werewolves for more generations than anyone can count.”

Lupin could not help staring at her in fascination. How could she possibly know so much about humans? Was she suggesting that there was ever a time when other humans had not hated werewolves? He was afraid to talk out of turn.

“Maybe his parents were werewolves,” suggested another wolf.

“There are no longer any werewolf cubs,” said the alpha female. “Male and female werewolves no longer see each other.”

Lupin could no longer contain himself. “So there are female werewolves?” he asked.

“We know nothing of that, Lupin,” said the alpha male nervously. In fact, he had been looking increasingly nervous as this discussion had progressed.

“Wait!” said the alpha female. “He is a werewolf. He should know the truth about his own kind. Remus Lupin, werewolves have not always been as they are now. Long ago, long before the disappearance of the wolves, humans and wolves did not fear each other so much, since they seldom attacked each other. Werewolves were humans who sometimes transformed into wolves, or wolves who sometimes transformed into humans, and they were honored as magical creatures.

“There were many female werewolves then, and male and female werewolves bred and produced werewolf cubs. But the werewolves were solitary hunters, and the males tended to abandon their young. And when the female werewolves encountered wolves they would join the wolf packs, for wolves take care of their young. The wolf packs accepted them as wolves, and also in their human state. And in their wolf state they bred with wolves and their offspring were wolves. So the werewolf population declined.

“As the she-werewolves left them, the male werewolves increasingly developed an appetite that had earlier been kept in check: that for the flesh of humans, especially human females, whom they would attack and eat. The she-werewolves realized how dangerous this was, for werewolves were also humans, and needed to be accepted by other humans. The females feared for their cubs, but the males lived only for the present. So even more did the she-werewolves abandon the males, and the males preyed more on humans, and this became their only appetite. It was a downward spiral that nobody knew how to stop.

“So werewolves became a deadly threat to other humans and were shunned from human society. It became harder to raise young werewolves, who were often in human form, in human society. It was also hard for them to survive in the wild in their human form, for with werewolf fathers they did not have the protection of a wolf pack. Since there was no future for their cubs, male and female werewolves had even less reason to mate.

“Then werewolves increasingly reproduced through the bite. For some male werewolves could turn humans into werewolves by biting them, and those who were bitten retained this trait, and eventually all werewolves had it, for this was the only way new werewolves were being created.

“Because of the attacks of the werewolves, humans became terrified of wolves, for they often could not tell the difference. This was one reason, though not the only one, why humans started slaughtering the wolves. Mostly humans feared for their property, and some wolves died only because humans thoughtlessly destroyed the places where they lived. As the wolf population declined, wolves also became very afraid of humans, and those she-werewolves who were left were no longer welcome among them. But the she-werewolves no longer had any use for the male werewolves, nor did the males care any more for the females. And so the Sorceresses extended their protection to the she-werewolves.”

Lupin had already seen and heard surprising things that evening, but this narrative was starting to strain his credulity. “What Sorceresses?” he asked in a neutral tone.

“There were very powerful witches who left the Wizarding World long ago. They had magic that the wizards knew not, but the wizards would not admit it. Wizards would grant that witches were powerful, but the people at the very top of wizarding society were always men. Their society would never recognize a witch as the person with the most magical knowledge and power; it was always a wizard. So these witches got fed up and withdrew from wizarding society. They hid in inaccessible mountain places and called themselves Sorceresses. And if any unwanted visitor tried to find them, the visitor would die. No one could find them, but they could find others, though they seldom wanted to. But they found the female werewolves and offered them their protection.

“On those rare occasions when a woman or girl is bitten but not eaten, the Sorceresses can sense the creation of a new she-werewolf, and with their magic they draw the newcomer back to their magical hiding places. The male werewolves make themselves scarce on such occasions, for the males carry the guilt of their fathers, and are terrified of the Sorceresses.”

Lupin was afflicted with a bitter sense of loss. How could the male werewolves have abandoned their cubs and their mates? He was a werewolf and had always longed for a family. He had always valued companionship more than the taste of human flesh.

“The Sorceresses live for a very long time, and since they teach the she-werewolves their magic, the best of the she-werewolves probably become the new Sorceresses. No one knows how they live, for they do not want to be known.”

“It is dangerous even to speak of them,” said the alpha male. “We have spoken of them quite enough.”

“It is only dangerous if you mistreat your mate or abandon your cubs, my dear,” said the alpha female. She was looking at Lupin, who was emboldened to ask one more question.

“How is it, madam, that you are so wise?”

“I am a carrier of memory,” said the alpha female. “There has been such a one in every wolf pack. The older one will choose the wisest of the pups to be the new one, and teach him or her everything that the older one knows, and so the wisdom of the wolves is preserved through the ages.”

“Remus Lupin,” said the alpha male, who seemed to be sizing him up again, “you say you want to join a wolf pack, and that means us. Being a werewolf you are strong, and may be helpful in our hunt. But you will transform into a human and may betray our existence to other humans. We will be taking a great risk if we let you live. But if we take the risk, and we find you here in a month, and no humans have come, I say you may join our pack, only in your wolf state of course. Shall we take the risk? I will defer to the wisest among us. What says my better half?”

“I have seen the loneliness in this werewolf’s eyes, and I believe he is sincere,” said the alpha female. “The parents who named him Remus Lupin must have sympathized with wolves, and probably raised him the same way. No werewolf would have given him such a name, and in his wolf state he would not know enough to make it up. He cannot prove he does not remember his human life, but he spoke with a feeling that I have not heard in a fabricated story. I think he will not betray us.”

“What say the rest of you?” said the alpha male.

The other wolves barked in assent, for they knew the alpha female was the wisest among them.

“Remus Lupin,” said the alpha male, turning to him again, “we will come here in a month and look for you, and if you are here you may join our hunt. But if you try to lead us to humans or them to us, or if you are aggressive and try to rise within our pack, or if you try to mate without permission, we will kill you.”

“Sir, I can only hope the human Lupin brings me here next month, and every month, because I want more than anything to join your pack. And if I try to lead you to humans, or them to you, or to rise within the pack, or to mate without permission, may you kill me.”

“Enough talking,” said the alpha male. “The night wears on. It is a beautiful moonlit night, and it is not too late for a hunt. Take your places, and let us move.”

“Wait!” said one of the females. “We are wolves, and we are scarce. We do not abandon our wounded. Someone must stay here and take care of Remus Lupin.”

Lupin was amazed, for he had already been called one of them.

“Very well,” said the alpha male. “You may stay, and anyone else who wants may stay and look after Remus Lupin.” He knew that most of them were eager for the hunt. A male also volunteered, and the two wolves stayed while the rest of them moved off.

The male wolf took up a watch in case anything dangerous came near. The female wolf lay down near Lupin and commenced licking his wound, and Lupin closed his eyes in contentment. He knew the wound would soon improve, for the saliva of wolves is antiseptic and healing. Better yet, he felt he had at last found a family.

Lupin, to his joy and relief, did appear at the edge of the forest at the next full moon, and for many moons after that. He always found the wolves in the same nearby clearing, and joined them in their hunt, and he soon got over his aversion to hunting deer. They found him useful because being a werewolf, he was relatively strong, but he was as swift and cunning as an ordinary wolf, and about the same size, since these were large wolves.

He soon learned the protocol of dominance and submission, and he always showed submission in any confrontation, for he was insecure about his inclusion in the pack, and had been warned not to rise within it. Between his eagerness to show submission and his playful, entertaining disposition, he was a natural for the part of the omega wolf, the lowest member of the pack. But the wolves found it necessary to have an omega wolf all the time, not just once a month, and Lupin found himself the second-lowest member of the pack, for while he chose to be submissive, the real omega was incapable of any other behavior. At first he sensed the other saw him as a rival, but they soon became friends, for the wolves found that a two-clown act was better than one, and that the two of them were more effective in organizing them into games. Lupin could not protect the omega wolf from any of the abuse of the other wolves, but he tried to make up for some of it by using their clowning as a cover for being affectionate.

Only the alpha male and female were allowed to mate, and Lupin doubted the wisdom of this, since if couples had left to form new packs the wolves could easily have increased their numbers. The wolves feared that any dispersal would give them away to humans. But although he sometimes looked longingly at the one who had tended to him on his first night there, he realized it was just as well that he was not allowed to mate, for he feared that his offspring might have werewolf characteristics.

Lupin’s greatest happiness came when the alpha female bore cubs. Though he could only see them once a month, he could marvel every time at how beautiful they were and how much they had grown. He found that they did not mistrust him as much as the adults did, since they did not know that he was a werewolf or what that meant, only that he strangely came just at the full moon. When they came along to learn the hunt, he was very encouraging to them, and each time he coached them he left them with some new or improved skill. So with the wolves passed the second-happiest time of Lupin’s life. It might have been the happiest, if he hadn’t still felt that the wolves only tolerated him, not loved him, that he might be thrown out of the pack for any transgression, or that his human counterpart might take him somewhere else.

And then came the mysterious year’s absence, and then the sad vision of the old place, as if to remind him of the devastating loss of his youth. Maybe he had projected his later knowledge of animals onto the old scenes he remembered, for it had always been strange that a dog, a rat, a stag and a werewolf should have been friends. It made more sense for the stag to be absent, since deer live in the wild, and a stag would never have spent so long in the same human place. It made more sense that the rat was terrified of the dog, since dogs often hunted rats. But where had the dog been? That dog could never be a pet. Maybe humans had managed to capture him and train him as a ratter, and that was why his relationship with the rat had changed. Lupin wanted to believe that the dog had been a captive, but knowing the dog, it was unlikely. He had loved the dog. If the dog had been alive and the dog had been free, then why, why had the dog abandoned him?

Lupin looked for the wolves all night, and tried to sniff out their trails, but did not find them. They had probably written him off, knowing his human counterpart had taken him somewhere else. He might never find them, if they had really existed. He might be here forever, without wolves, werewolves, or even his natural prey. He might face loneliness and frustration for the rest of his life, but an animal does not think that far ahead, for if he did, an animal might just curl up and die.


	3. Lupin Hits Bottom

Lupin returned to his human form near the place where he had left his warm clothes, as he had ever since he started coming to this place. He thought that his wolf side was trying to keep him alive, for in the winter he sometimes even found himself under a layer of pine needles beneath the light snow cover. He still had never dared to leave a broom here, let alone a wand, for any animal might dig it up and chew on it or carry it away. He had usually returned to this place exhausted but quite contented, and drawn by the beauty of the forest, he had sometimes explored it a little, though he had always felt that he was being watched, and that he would have no defense against the magic here, should it become hostile. But this time he came back feeling empty and frightened and was anxious to return to London as soon as possible.

He Apparated to the far corner of Diagon Alley and turned quickly into it. People took no notice of him, for he saw no one he knew, and the sight of a wizard in Muggle clothes was nothing extraordinary there. But as he continued down the street, he was surprised to see a man in the green uniform of St. Mungo’s look into his pale and exhausted face first with recognition, then with concern, and then with a look of gradual dawning comprehension. Could this wizard know that he was a werewolf and be sympathetic? The man did look familiar to Lupin, but he couldn’t place him. He had brown hair, brown eyes and an open, friendly face.

“Remus Lupin?” he said. “Steve Gillyfeld. I worked with you at St. Mungo’s, it must have been at least ten years ago. I don’t know whether you remember me, because you were only there for a few months.”

Lupin remembered that after his rejection from the Ministry he had tried to work at the next place where he thought he might make a difference, as a Trainee Healer in the section for Creature Induced Injuries, and had soon been forced out. Perhaps Gillyfeld remembered him because the discovery that he was a werewolf had been a memorable event at the hospital.

“I’m a Healer in Potion and Plant Poisoning. I really want to talk to you, Lupin. Would you like to join me for some breakfast?” He pointed to a café with outdoor tables. “Clarissa’s café serves a restorative tea that makes you feel as if you haven’t been awake all night. Of course it’s very popular with hospital workers.”

Lupin smiled. “Perfect,” he said.

They sat down at one of the tables and ordered some restorative tea and some kippers and eggs. When the food came Lupin realized he was ravenous.

“I always hoped I’d see you again,” said Gillyfeld. “You disappeared for so long that I feared the worst. I was really excited to hear that you were teaching at Hogwarts last year.” Lupin’s memory of Gillyfeld was starting to return. He had been an idealistic young wizard, straight out of school, and a very promising Trainee Healer. “What I wanted to ask you is, did you have the Wolfsbane Potion?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Professor Snape, the Potions master, made it for me.”

“Snape knows how to make it! I thought as much. Well, we could do with a bit less secrecy from him. We can hardly get it at all. And do you know why we can’t get it?”

“Perhaps because it’s for werewolves, it’s expensive and hardly anyone knows how to make it?” suggested Lupin coolly.

“But do you know _why_ it’s expensive, Lupin? Do you know _why_ no one knows how to make it? It’s a scandal! It’s a disgrace! The Ministry—” he continued, “—the Ministry—has classed it—”

Lupin saw to his surprise that Gillyfeld could hardly speak through his indignation.

“—As a _veterinary_ potion!”

“That sounds like the Ministry alright,” said Lupin grimly.

“If it were classed as an essential medical potion, the Ministry would pay for the ingredients, like they do with other essential medical potions. They would make it a requirement for the Potions N.E.W.T., and that Slytherin Snape would have to teach it, whether he feels like it or not. All the Healers and potion-makers would know how to make it, and do you know what that would mean, Lupin? Do you know what it would mean?”

Lupin gestured for Gillyfeld to lower his voice, for he was getting carried away.

“We could make it available free to anyone who is bitten, the moment they are bitten. Everyone wants to continue the life they had before they were bitten. Parents would make their children take it. The werewolves in the Den—they’re just the ones who’ve given up. The new ones would never end up there. And do you know what else? The ones who have the potion would not be biting anyone! There would be fewer and fewer new werewolves being created! It would be exponential! In a few generations lycanthropy could be virtually eradicated!”

“Gillyfeld will you _please_ keep your voice down?” Lupin hissed, for a couple of people at other tables had turned to look at them. “I’m afraid even if the Ministry ever reclassifies it, it won’t go as smoothly as you think. The werewolves in the Den won’t take it, they mistrust other humans so much. They are the majority of the werewolves, and they will still be biting. Employers will still discriminate against werewolves, even if we have the potion. They will know who we are if we have to take time off at the full moon every month. Prejudice against werewolves runs very deep, and it isn’t quite without reason. Even those who have the potion may occasionally forget to take it, and this will be especially dangerous, since they will be among other humans. Many werewolves, even the new ones, will still wind up in the Den, because they won’t be able to make a living here.”

“Rome wasn’t built in a day, Remus,” said Gillyfeld, looking at Lupin with a certain merriment in his warm brown eyes. Lupin had a suspicion, which was getting stronger, that Gillyfeld was a Muggle-born wizard who had taken on a joking modification of his family name, probably from kids at Hogwarts. “Change is slow, but it’s already happening. Many employers look the other way now. If a good employee is bitten, the employer does not want to lose him. Werewolves who are employed try harder to transform in places where they won’t reach people. Sometimes an employer may find out someone is a werewolf, but if he keeps quiet about it so will his boss. It isn’t the same as it was ten years ago. When is the last time you tried to work above ground?”

“You haven’t heard?” said Lupin dryly. “I had a teaching post at Hogwarts last year. Do you want to know how I lost my post?”

“No, I don’t want to know how you lost your post,” said Gillyfeld dismissively. “For some reason I am unable to fathom, nobody ever stays at that post for more than a year. At school they used to say there was a curse on it. Anyway, I know you didn’t bite anyone, because that would have been big news.”

“I couldn’t work there once everyone knew I was a werewolf. The parents would have been terrified for their kids.”

Gillyfeld frowned. “Did the parents know about the Wolfsbane Potion?”

“I doubt it.”

“Did you try to negotiate? Did they say you had to leave?”

“No to both. But the headmaster had already gone out on a limb for me more than once. I couldn’t put him through that.”

“But you never tried to negotiate with an employer, did you, Remus? You always just left with your tail between your legs.”

Lupin did not care much for this metaphor.

“I was never in any position to negotiate, and you know that perfectly well, Steve. There was no law banning employment discrimination against werewolves. There was no union of werewolves to back me up. I was one of the only werewolves even trying to work in the mainstream world back then. I had been given an opportunity that most had not, and I had the mistaken idea that I could make a difference.”

“You still can! You still can!” said Gillyfeld, brightening again. “Remus, every werewolf who wants to work in the mainstream Wizarding World can make a difference. Maybe you can’t yet work at a school or a hospital, but there are plenty of other places you could try.”

“Who would hire me? Gillyfeld, do you know what I’ve been _doing_ for the last ten years?”

“I don’t need to know what you’ve been _doing_ for the last ten years. I imagine you did whatever you had to do to get by. It’s what you do now that matters. It’s the future that matters. It’s time to start standing up for your rights.”

“I must have missed it,” said Lupin sarcastically, “but I come here on a regular basis to catch up with the news, and I haven’t seen anything about a change in the legal status of werewolves. How can I stand up for rights I don’t have?”

“How will you get them if you don’t stand up for them? Remus, some of us are trying, but change can’t just come from the top. If wizards see that werewolves want to live as other humans do, they will be more interested in making accommodations that will make the werewolves less dangerous. The more wizards give them opportunities, the more werewolves will have motivation to seek them. It’s cyclical. The legal changes will come. They will come, however long it takes.”

“How can we try to live openly among people who look on us with fear and loathing?”

“I must have missed it,” said Gillyfeld, imitating Lupin, “because I just saw you walking down the street, and I didn’t see a _single person_ looking on you with fear and loathing.”

“Were they looking at me at all? Maybe they fear and loathe me so much that they won’t even look at me.”

Lupin saw to his annoyance that Gillyfeld was shaking with silent laughter.

“Gillyfeld, it may be different for the newly bitten,” he said seriously, “but in my case no one can pretend. Everyone in the Wizarding World sends their kids to Hogwarts, and by now everyone knows what I am. Everyone knows I was given a great privilege but wound up like the rest. I can’t keep a low profile nor set an encouraging example.”

“Remus, I have a friend with a son at Hogwarts who told his parents that you were very nice and a very good teacher. He said he never thought he could face a Dark Creature until he took your class. By the end he didn’t care when he found out you were a werewolf. My friend said it changed her view of werewolves. Did it ever occur to you that what the kids told their parents might actually have _improved_ the public perception of werewolves? If everyone knew what you are, they’d know you are a kind and clever fellow who just happens to be a skilled wizard. Is that how you define yourself, simply as a werewolf? Remus Lupin, are you ever going to get off your knees?”

Lupin could stand no more of this, not because of the content of what Gillyfeld was saying, but because so much of it was being overheard by people around them. “I have to be going,” he said, standing up. “Nice seeing you, Gillyfeld.”

All the merriment and irony vanished from Gillyfeld’s face and was replaced by the look of concern with which he had first regarded Lupin. “At least give me your address, Remus, so I can send an owl if we get the potion.”

Lupin realized this was a good idea. He took out a piece of paper and a pen and wrote down his address, and Gillyfeld smiled with recognition at the London address as well as the pen and paper. “Very good, Remus. I’ll let you know as soon as anything happens.” They shook hands, and Lupin walked away rather hurriedly from the vicinity of the café.

His next stop was Gringotts, because he wanted to withdraw money in order to try to buy the potion at the apothecary shop. He also needed to pick up his wand, which he always checked into a security box there before his transformation journeys.

Lupin sort of liked Gringotts, because although the goblins there knew he was a werewolf, they didn’t treat him any differently than they treated other wizards, since they mistrusted all wizards, and were only interested in their business. He had never opened an account there until he had the teaching post at Hogwarts, since before that he had never had any money. He had a pleasant earlier memory of the place, though, because after his friends had found out that he was a werewolf, and he had expected them to dump him, James had taken him down to the Potter vault just for the fun of riding the carts, and given him a Galleon for the favor of his company.

He had thought of taking out fifty Galleons, but decided on a hundred, for what did he have to lose? If having the potion could help him get a job, he would start to have income, and might be able to continue buying it. He put his wand in his belt so he would not be mistaken for a Muggle, and carried his sack of gold down the street to the apothecary shop, which was reputed to be the best in the Wizarding World.

The apothecary was an elderly wizard wearing midnight blue robes embroidered with silver crescents and stars, and a matching blue pointed hat. He sat on a high stool behind a counter in the outer room, in front of rows of shelves with bottles and vials of variously colored liquids in them. An odd mixture of smells, some more pleasant than others, wafted out from the inner room.

“And what can I do for you, sir?” he said pleasantly as Lupin walked in.

“I was hoping to buy the Wolfsbane Potion,” said Lupin. “Do you have it?”

“No, unfortunately,” said the apothecary, looking troubled. “It’s a very complicated potion, and I haven’t had time to learn how to make it. I’m afraid I’m so busy that I can’t always keep up with the new ones. It’s especially hard with this one, because the ingredients are difficult to obtain. Several of them need to be gathered from different places only at the full moon.”

“And your apprentices—they haven’t had a chance, either?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. It’s difficult to learn from a recipe, without being coached by someone who already knows how to make it. Until I have a chance to learn, it’s too difficult for the apprentices to do on their own. The wizard who invented it has already retired. There hasn’t been much demand for it, because most werewolves are poor and do not want to take it anyway.”

“Not much demand for it? Have you tried St. Mungo’s? Or the parents of bitten children?”

The apothecary shifted uncomfortably. “It’s a shame, sir, but the hospital has to buy so many things for so many people that they can’t afford to advance as much as we need to obtain the ingredients. We also need to meet the demands of many people for many things, and we are very behind both with the learning of the potion and with the gathering of the ingredients.”

“Professor Snape at Hogwarts knows how to make it.”

“Professor Snape at Hogwarts? Wasn’t he a Death Eater? Yes, I’m sure he knows all kinds of things,” said the apothecary with distaste.

“Supposing someone else put down money in advance for the collection of the ingredients? Would that give you or your assistants a chance to learn?”

“We could try it, but I’m afraid the outcome is uncertain. It would have to be a considerable amount, and I can make no promises about when you would get anything back. And sir,” he said, dropping his voice, “are you certain the werewolf will take it? Is it for your child?”

“Of course I’ll take it. Why do you think I’m asking for it?”

The wizard jumped and quickly glanced at his calendar, on which the phases of the moon were charted. Then he collected himself and turned back to Lupin, looking even more troubled.

“How much money can you put down?” he asked doubtfully.

Lupin plunked a hundred Galleons down on the counter. “How far will this get me?”

The wizard looked astonished, then alarmed. He knew how werewolves lived, and he thought that Lupin must have stolen the money. To accept so much money on such an uncertain outcome would be like stealing it himself. It might be traced to him, and he could be in a lot of trouble. His business would be in trouble. But wasn’t the werewolf right? What was stealing the money compared with the ongoing attacks of a werewolf? This werewolf must have a conscience, or he would use the money for something else. It was an ethical dilemma. But more people would be hurt if he lost his business, because so many people depended on him…

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “but I can’t take your money with the outcome so uncertain.”

Lupin knew what the apothecary thought, and suppressed a momentary urge to magically break the row of bottles and flasks behind him. “Well then, supposing I just drop by from time to time, to see if there’s been any progress?” He knew it was not a good idea to give his address, because it would be dangerous to let this wizard know that he was living among Muggles.

“Please do, sir,” said the apothecary, and then he added hastily, “we’re only open during the day.”

“And what time do you close in the winter?” said Lupin a little mischievously.

“We are open every day from nine to five,” said the wizard composedly. “I’m terribly sorry, sir,” he added, looking as if he really was.

Lupin nodded and walked back into the alley. After returning to Gringotts to deposit his money again, he made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron, and back into the streets of London. Weary as he was, he would walk the three miles to his lodgings, for he could not face the stuffiness of the Underground, and he thought a bus would make him queasy.

Lupin could believe that Severus had ingredients stashed away in the nooks and crannies of that crazy office of his that the best apothecary in Diagon Alley could not find. He could believe that Severus could figure out a potion from a recipe that no one else could learn without coaching. He realized how much trouble Dumbledore and Severus must have gone to in order to make the potion available to him. Pondering this, he finally reached his lodgings, and, relieved that no one was around, went to his room, flung himself down on the bed, and fell asleep.

He woke up as night was falling, and was confused. What was he? Where was he? Why was he waking up at nightfall? As usual, the respite from reality did not last long. He remembered the events of the morning and felt he must bite the bullet. There was nothing for it but to ask Dumbledore or Severus for advice on getting the potion again.

Dumbledore must be angry with him, for he had shown none of his characteristic warmth at their parting, even knowing that they might not meet again. After everything Dumbledore had done for him, Lupin felt that he would rather expose himself to another kick from Severus than ask Dumbledore for another favor. He opened the locked drawer in his nightstand where he kept his wand, and took out a sheet of parchment and a quill.

_Dear Severus,_

Dear Severus? Lupin shivered. Severus had tied him up. Severus had tried to send him to Azkaban. Severus had referred to him as “the werewolf” instead of by his name, in order to discredit his testimony. Severus had tried to teach Lupin’s own class how to capture and kill him. Yet Severus had made the potion…

Lupin sighed. Sometimes he wondered whether Severus, like him, had nightmares, nightmares about Voldemort and about his time as a Death Eater. Whether Severus, like him, had a heavy burden of guilt. Lupin could imagine what sort of fate might await Severus if Voldemort should ever come back. Why did Severus hate him so much? What had he ever done to Severus except, as a teenager, be friends with his enemies? Was it ever too late for a reconciliation? Maybe if Lupin addressed him more politely…he flicked his wand over the parchment to start again.

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_I am writing to you because you are the most skilled potion-maker in Britain._

No, Severus would despise flattery from him, even if it was no more than the truth. Worse, he might think Lupin was making fun of him. He remembered with a curse his own and his friends’ voices mocking “Professor Snape,” his appearance and his credentials, from the Marauder’s Map. Did Severus want him to die for saying he had an abnormally large nose? Were they to be locked to the death in this adolescent squabble?

Maybe if he offered to pay him well…no, he would not be able to do that for long, and he had a feeling that the only payment that would satisfy Severus would be a pound of his own contaminated flesh. For in his years in London, Lupin had sometimes managed to go to the theatre, and to enjoy the plays of that old playwright whom the Muggles loved so much. And there had been a much-abused and very vindictive character in one of them who had reminded him a bit of Severus.

He flicked his wand over the parchment again. He had to erase this one, or the landlady might find it and suspect he was drinking again.

Lupin went to the window and looked sadly out at the moon, one day into its waning. He might never get the potion, and after having seen something different, could he face that monthly terror for the rest of his life?

Yet he had survived all these years after the shock of finding that he had to face it alone. Moony, they had called him. One dead. One the worst of traitors. One in hiding somewhere, the most wanted fugitive in the Wizarding World. If anyone knew where Sirius was, it would be Harry, but he did not have Harry’s summer address, or Hermione’s. He knew where the Weasleys lived, and Ron would have Harry’s address, but he had not forgotten Ron’s words to him in the Shrieking Shack: _Get away from me, werewolf!_

He knew he should forget it, because Ron had not been hostile to him after that, and the boy had been in tremendous pain, under tremendous stress, and probably terrified at the time. But those words had cut through Lupin like a knife, for they seemed to be a concise and brutal articulation of the often unspoken, less personal, and more subtle messages he had heard all his life from the Wizarding World. Had such an attitude been part of Ron’s upbringing? If so, he suspected that it came more from his mother than from his father, for Arthur Weasley had a reputation for being somewhat unconventional as well as very amiable, and was looked down on by the snobs of the Wizarding World for his sympathetic interest in Muggles. Could that open-mindedness possibly extend to werewolves? Would Arthur remember him as a comrade from the war?

If he wrote to Ron, the parents might be concerned, but he suspected that if he wrote to Arthur the man might be discreet, and he probably had Harry’s address himself. He smiled as he took out a piece of Muggle paper and a pen from the top drawer, because he thought Mr. Weasley would get a big kick out of receiving a letter written with a Muggle pen on Muggle paper. From what Lupin had heard of Arthur, he probably would consider the ballpoint pen to be an ingenious invention.

_Dear Mr. Weasley,_

_I hope you are all well and happy. I was wondering whether you could possibly send me Harry Potter’s summer address, because I want to send him an owl, because I need to ask him something._

He paused. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, but thought it might be impolite to send such a short note to someone he hardly knew, obviously only written because Lupin wanted something from him. It occurred to him that perhaps he should apologize for events at the school, considering that there were five Weasley kids there, but he was afraid to. He did not know what Ron had told his parents either about himself or about Sirius, or what they believed. What could he say? “Sirius is cool, he only broke into Hogwarts with a knife to try to kill Ron’s rat, who was in fact Peter Pettigrew”? Or “Sorry I transformed into my werewolf state at your children’s school, and almost attacked one of your children, and if you see a big black dog almost the size of a bear, you should thank him that Ron is not a werewolf”? _Yes, that would surely do_ , he thought bitterly. Perhaps Ron had been right. He crumpled up the paper and aimed it, Muggle-style, at the wastebasket. He had not written down the last bit, so if the landlady found it, she need not know that he fancied himself a werewolf. But then he remembered that, commonplace as it seemed to him, even the first bit was dangerous. He picked up his wand again. “ _Accio_ _note_ ,” he said sadly.

Lupin felt old and tired. In the days that followed, he realized that he could not face moving again, or living in the sort of place where no one would care about anything he was doing or how many times he came home drunk. If he was to avoid drinking, he needed to avoid his old haunts and old acquaintances. He did not think he could manage to play that game any more anyway. He did put an ad in the paper as a magician, and obtained a few gigs at social events, but he could not support himself that way, and he knew he would be in trouble when Dumbledore’s money ran out.

Since they knew he was around but was avoiding them, his old acquaintances became cooler to him, even to the point of hostility, because they thought he was trying to climb above them socially. They need not fear that, thought Lupin grimly, for he had been educated as a wizard, and apart from the fact that he had no experience and no references, he would not have been capable of performing a regular job in the Muggle world without blowing his cover. He could not figure out how to use those devices that Muggles used to do things that he only knew how to do with magic. The Ministry would find him out at last. There was no future there for a wizard in hiding.

Disregarding the precipice in the distance, he continued walking and reading, and pretended to go to AA meetings to reassure his landlady. One time he saw a couple of his old acquaintances under the awning of a storefront, and he smiled and waved. The woman smiled but the man did not. “Why don’t we see you anymore, Magic Man?” asked the man.

“I’m living with a lady friend now, and she says if I come home drunk one more time she’ll throw me out. I need to avoid the pubs now.”

“A lady friend, eh? Well why don’t you bring her along? She too good for us?”

“Don’t be stupid, Jack,” said the woman, hitting him. “It’s time Magic Man found someone. If she doesn’t want him to drink she wouldn’t want either of them to come.”

One time he was in the library and his attention was caught by a book someone had left on one of the tables: _Frankenstein_ , by Mary Shelley. He knew it was a classic of fantastic Muggle literature, and he had always wanted to read it but been half-afraid to, because he knew it was a tragic story with an unfortunate monster in it, and he had always expected that he would identify painfully with the unfortunate monster. But someone had left it there, as if for him…

He started reading it that afternoon and it kept him up all night. When he finished it he pondered on this so-called monster, who had been called that even before he had done anything wrong. He was a human, but he had been completely rejected by human society simply because of his appearance, and only when his complete exclusion was certain did he become dangerous, for his nature had been gentle. His situation was worse than that of a werewolf, for there were many werewolves, so at least they had each other. Should Lupin return to them? No, he could not, after all these years, resign to being a criminal and a killer. Yet Lupin saw one similarity: he believed, as Gillyfeld did, that werewolves would be less dangerous if they did not continue to be shunned.

He dreaded his next transformation, but the time came to pack his battered suitcase. There were wizards in Scotland, but he had always known it would be of no use trying to make the acquaintance of any he if he planned to leave his broom with them, for they would see that it was always at the time of the full moon and would figure out the truth. They would not want a werewolf near them, especially near the time of his transformation. And if he habitually appeared at Muggle Inns in Edinburgh or any Scottish town carrying a broom, people would think him very weird and might steal his broom for a lark or to see if there was anything special about it. So again he boarded the train.

***

When the missing night was over and he transformed back to his human state at the edge of the magical forest, he could hear the birds singing, and he realized, as the sun rose higher, that it was a beautiful day. Despite having the same empty and lonely feeling he had had after the previous transformation, he found himself drawn to the forest as he sometimes had been in the past. He sat down on the soft needle-covered ground near a stream, and his mind wandered again to the book he had recently read.

Like Frankenstein’s creature, Lupin had always yearned for a partner like himself. He would not be dangerous to a female werewolf, since she would be transformed at the same time he was, and he would not have to explain his disappearances to her. The thing that always puzzled him most—where were all the female werewolves? A wind suddenly rose from nowhere and there was a strange rustling in the trees.

The werewolves in the Den did not seem to mind that there were no females among them. He had not seen them ever seek out women. Their interest in flesh was only of one kind, he thought with a shudder. The ones who had given up, Gillyfeld had said. Lupin had thought he was different from the other werewolves, but he had not been perceived that way by witches, and could not confide in a Muggle woman, though he had tried. The breeze was getting chillier. It was not as nice a day as he had thought.

Perhaps all the other werewolves ate all the women they caught. He wanted something different. Had he ever tried? Perhaps if he went, before his transformation, to a place where he was sure to find a woman to bite…he suddenly felt a terrible sharp pain in his ankle. A Grindylow had crept out of the stream and sank its long teeth through his socks and into his ankle! Lupin had never seen any Dark Creatures here, but he had long tried to train himself to confront such things without a wand, for he never had his wand when he transformed. He observed the pain but did not worry about it. He concentrated his mind on the Grindylow.

_I will not hurt you. I have no wand. I will let you go if you let me go._

The Grindylow maintained its grip and looked up at Lupin, and their eyes met. Lupin began to chat with it as if it had dropped by for a social visit.

“You know, Frankenstein was right about one thing,” he said to the Grindylow. “If he had created another creature, he could not be sure that it would be like the first, or want to be his partner. It was rather presumptuous of the creature to demand that Frankenstein make a partner for him. Frankenstein hardly even knew what he was doing.” The Grindylow’s grip seemed to relax a little, but they still eyed each other warily. “If I bit a woman and made her a werewolf, it would be a tragedy for her and for her family. She would have no more love for me than I have for the werewolf who bit me.” The Grindylow released him and slid back into the stream. Lupin shook himself and made his way warily out of the forest. To his surprise he found that outside there was no wind. It had been the magic of the forest.

He made his way across the heath toward the coast, lost in thought. That Grindylow seemed rather wise. It seemed to want to correct him, when he had in fact been wrong. Perhaps Grindylows were better-intentioned than wizards thought. Perhaps they had been misunderstood. Were other Dark Creatures any darker than he was? He knew what it meant for him when students were taught to kill werewolves. He hoped he had encouraged his students to face such creatures with courage and confidence, not fear and loathing, and not to hurt them any more than was necessary for self-defense. He knew well that the most evil Dark Creatures, the ones that had no redeeming features, could not be defeated with violence but only with joy. When he taught the class again…no, of course not, he could never teach it again.

With such thoughts he reached the edge of the land and began to clamber down the rocks to a spot where he could sit and watch the crashing waves. Incoming waves swirled into eddies among the rocks and dumped seawater into pools, which gradually drained again after the water receded. In the distance the sea was a steely blue, but here among the rocks in the sunshine, where the depths of the water varied, it appeared in many beautiful shades of green and turquoise, crossed with ridges of foam. It was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. He felt the sea was calling him to throw himself off the high rocks and merge with it in his death. He realized that, beautiful as it was, he must leave that place at once.

***

In the streets of London, Lupin pondered again what Gillyfeld had said to him. He knew that there was no future for him in the Muggle world. Could he possibly try again in the Wizarding World? Who would vouch for him? Dumbledore?

What could Dumbledore say? That he had gone out on a limb making special arrangements so that Lupin could attend the school without being dangerous, and later so that he could teach there, and that both times Lupin had violated the terms of those arrangements? That he had shown more confidence in Lupin than any other wizard ever would have, and that Lupin had kept dangerous secrets from him the whole time they had known each other? He had no other references, since no other wizards had ever wanted him to work for them. Oh, but he did have a personal reference, a dear old friend in the Wizarding World who was wanted so badly there for murder and Dark Wizardry that his face had even appeared on Muggle TV.

He had no work record. They would all know that he had been a werewolf since his youth, and would assume he had led a life of crime. The truth would do no more to recommend him. He would be arrested by the Ministry for violating the Wizarding Statute of Secrecy. They would arrest him anyway, because he had never registered as a werewolf in the Beast Division.

Maybe Gillyfeld was right that it was different for the newly bitten. If some employers looked the other way, they could keep their jobs and build up a work record. Perhaps, having income, they might eventually be able to buy the Wolfsbane Potion. But if he went back to suffer more rejection and humiliation, it would only confirm the view of the werewolves in the Den that they would suffer more if they tried to live like other humans. Lupin knew that for him it was too late.

Sometimes in parks he saw couples together on benches or walking hand in hand, people he knew would be together not for a night but perhaps for months or years, who could keep each other company without fear on every night of the month. He saw parents with their children, carrying them on their backs or pushing them in prams, or calling out to them as they ran off to play. Lupin knew such things would never be for him.

They must have been far away, for Lupin was a wizard, but he did not see them. The light was not extinguished, the air did not become freezing cold, and he did not hear the rattling of their breath or feel its clammy chill on his skin. And if he knew, what memory did he have left for a Patronus?

The moment he found out Sirius was innocent? No, he must have known it all along, or his secrecy had put the school in deadly danger. He could not remember his happy nights with the Marauders without remembering his shame at the risk and at having betrayed Dumbledore’s trust. He could not remember his happy days with his school friends without remembering how tragically those friendships had ended. There had been no happy moment with a woman that had not led to a heartbreak.

Perhaps he could have remembered seeing one student after another successfully confront a boggart in his class. Perhaps he could have remembered the moment at the Quidditch match when he had seen a Patronus erupt from Harry’s wand. When it came to teaching, perhaps he had some memories that were not tarnished, for though he could add the loss of his post to all his other losses, he had given something to others that would always be with them. But he did not think to try, for he did not see the dementors.

Occasionally the landlady heard him sobbing in his room, and she thought she understood, for she had seen others in recovery, and knew how difficult it was for them to be on the wagon. She believed that he would pull through and that better things were around the corner for him. Lupin’s thoughts were quite different, for something had shifted in his mind. He realized that, for the rest of his wretched life, he would probably do more harm than good, and that the time had come to end it.

It would be easy enough to do it in the Muggle world, where no one really knew him or cared, but he knew it would be seen as the cowardly cop-out of a depressed drunk, and it would set a bad example for all the other depressed drunks in town, most of whom had never killed anyone, and many of whom could be salvaged. If he did it in the Wizarding World it would confirm the deadly conviction of most of the werewolves that trying to live except as they did would make them unable to live with themselves. It also might sadden anyone there who had known him and remembered him. But he thought of _Frankenstein_ and he had an idea.

The image that had at last fixed itself in Lupin’s mind was not of the tormented Frankenstein or the tormented being to whom he gave life, but the scene of majestic sea ice and snow where their journey had ended, the final resting place for both of them. Lupin had always known that if he tried to transform somewhere he could be sure to encounter no one, it would mean his death, for wherever humans could survive, there were humans. He could never stand the idea of burning up and dying of thirst in the middle of some vast desert. But the beautiful Arctic?

He always Apparated north anyway. He looked at the globe. He could not go there directly, but could manage it in stages, if he first went to Scotland, then to the Faeroe Islands, then to Iceland, and then the east coast of Greenland, which would be his final destination. Looking at other maps, he saw that there were still a couple of small Inuit settlements on the east coast of Greenland, but he would make it well above those. In Iceland he could equip himself with the right clothes to survive in the Arctic for a little while, and in fact he would only need a half hour or so. He would still need to Apparate, since on a broom the wind would freeze him, and he wanted to reach his planned destination.

If he disappeared at the full moon, it would bother no one, since he always did that anyway, and no one who knew would feel any responsibility. They would be glad to be rid of a werewolf. His body would never be found. They would suppose that he had met some fate befitting a Dark Creature. He would arrive there before his transformation, of course, since in his wolf state he would never go there.

He would have to plan it very carefully. He would have to know, on the date of his journey, where the edge of the Greenland Icepack was, and to figure out the exact latitude and longitude of his destination. He would need to find out the exact time and direction of the moonrise. He would make sure that conditions were clear on that site on that night, and if they were not, he would wait until another month. For there still was something he wanted to see before he died.

He wanted to see the full moon rising in all its beauty, reflected in the tranquil Arctic Ocean, and to see the Arctic ice and snow brilliantly illuminated by its light. And for the first time since he was a small child, he would see only its beauty, and have no fear. He would not fear the loss of control, because this time he would want to transform. Not the pain of his transformation, which would be little as he was freezing to death. Most importantly, he would not need to fear becoming a deadly danger to others, because he would know that he would never harm another living soul again. And he thought that perhaps in that last moment he would be forgiven.

He was not sure exactly for what, let alone by whom, he might expect to be forgiven. Perhaps at some time someone in the human world would notice that he was gone and would forgive him as people do sometimes forgive the dead. In AA they always talked about connecting with a Higher Power, and if Lupin could connect with one perhaps it would forgive him, for it would know what was in his heart.

He would wait until the kids were back in school, when there would be such a thing as a moonrise in the Arctic, and when he could contact Harry directly. If anyone knew how to reach Sirius, it would be Harry, and Lupin could not leave this world without saying goodbye to Sirius.

***

The days grew shorter, the breeze chillier, and soon it was starting to blow dead leaves around. Lupin knew that the kids were back in school, and that he could send an owl from Diagon Alley to Harry at Hogwarts. He would ask Harry to meet him in person, because whatever they called Sirius, Lupin did not think information about his whereabouts should be sent through the mail. He realized that he wanted to see Hermione too, because her knowledge and judgment were sometimes ahead of Harry’s. And in that case he couldn’t exclude Ron, because the three of them were inseparable.

_Dear Harry,_

_I need to ask you something in confidence. Is there a time and place we can meet privately? Your two friends are welcome, but no one else._

_Remus Lupin_

The day after he mailed it, a big snowy owl tapped on Lupin’s window. He let it in quickly, but this time a Muggle was passing in the street below. The Muggle looked up and blinked, but Hedwig had disappeared, so he shook his head and continued on his way. Hedwig dropped a piece of parchment on Lupin’s lap, but kept pecking at him until he pulled over a plate of sesame party snacks on a nearby table and popped a few in her mouth. He opened the note.

_Dear Professor Lupin,_

_We would love to see you. Do you know a certain clearing among the beech trees in the southwest quarter of the Forbidden Forest? Would you like to meet us there Sunday at 7 a.m.? By some coincidence I think you know the place and that we know how to get there._

_Harry_

Lupin smiled, for he did indeed know the place, and Harry knew how to get there because he had the Marauder’s Map, and there was a tunnel to the clearing off one of the tunnels that led from the school to the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Perhaps if he remembered giving the map back to Harry, and thought of all the things those intrepid kids might do with it, there was just a chance that he could have made a Patronus. But he did not try, for still he did not see the dementors.

***

Lupin was quite at home in the Forbidden Forest, and since he arrived in the clearing before the kids did, he took in the old sights, sounds, and smells with interest, and noticed the changes. After fifteen minutes or so they emerged from the tunnel and saw him.

“Professor Lupin!” said Harry and Hermione happily. Ron was still rubbing his eyes and seemed to be half-asleep.

“I have no such title,” said Lupin sadly.

“What do you mean?” said Ron indignantly, coming to life. “You taught me to disable a boggart!”

“You taught me to make a Patronus,” said Harry significantly.

“You’ll always be Professor Lupin to us,” said Hermione kindly.

He was touched by this accolade, but he addressed himself to Harry. 

“I need to see Padfoot. Do you know where he is?”

Harry only hesitated for a few seconds, because if anyone could be trusted with this information, it was Lupin. “Do you know the mountains behind Hogsmeade?”

“I know them well,” said Lupin with a wolf grin.

“Do you know a cave there?”

“There are a number of caves there.”

“There’s a big mountain northwest of the town. If you take the path up from the town side, when you get high enough there’s a sort of shelf, which you can follow to the other side. There’s a path up from there that passes a hidden cave, which you can reach through a fissure in the rock.”

“Yes, I know the place. Thanks, Harry. Well, you children better run along now,” he said, winking at them. “You’re not supposed to be here, you know.”

The kids stood there for a minute, for they had not expected the visit to be so short. But since it seemed that Lupin had nothing else to say, Ron waved goodbye and started back into the tunnel, muttering something about giant spiders. Hermione hesitated for longer, looking with concern at Lupin’s face, but eventually she said goodbye and followed Ron. Harry still remained, and in that moment Lupin had the feeling that he had said or done something awful to Harry the previous year, something for which, in his last hour, he should apologize. He reached for Harry’s arm and said, “Harry, I—” but the words would not come, and his arm fell. “Wish you luck in the tournament.”

Harry smiled. “Thanks, Professor Lupin. I’ll need it. I hope we’ll see you again soon.” He followed his friends into the tunnel.

The next time Lupin blinked, a tear fell down his face, for he had just figured out that if he carried out his intended purpose, he would never see those kids again.

***

Although battered, he was agile even in his human form, and he was used to scrambling over rocks, with or without a path. He easily reached the entrance to Sirius’s cave. He poked his head in and saw the big black dog curled up on the floor.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he hissed in a raspy voice. The dog barked, jumped up, and turned around and into a man who pulled Lupin into his arms and then held him at arms length for a moment, looking at him.

“What was that supposed to be, Parseltongue? I’m a dog, not a snake, Moony.”

“I didn’t want to be overheard.”

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” he said, but looked a bit worried. “How did you find me? No one knows but the kids, do they?”

“No, no one knows. I asked Harry in person.”

“Is anything new?”

Lupin hesitated. He couldn’t tell Sirius what was new in his own mind. “I had to see you, because no one else loves me,” he said, thinking this sounded pathetic.

“At least they don’t think you’re a mass murderer who betrayed your best friend,” said Sirius with a scowl.

“No, they only think I’m a vicious, flesh-eating monster with a contagious condition.”

The two men looked into each other’s tired faces.

Sirius reached into a corner, produced two bottles of butterbeer, and threw one to Lupin.

“Where did you get this?”

“The kids managed to bring me some stuff from Hogsmeade.”

The two men suddenly smiled at each other and clinked bottles. Lupin sat down on the floor against the wall of the cave, and Sirius sat down next to him and put his arm around him.

“How’ve you been keeping, Moony? You never told me what you’ve been doing all these years.”

“Whatever I could to get by. I’ve lived among Muggles a lot, pretending to be a Muggle magician, because I couldn’t get work in the Wizarding World, and because Muggles don’t believe in werewolves. When my time comes I Disapparate to the most remote part of Scotland, though I don’t know whether that’s far enough.”

“It’s getting near, isn’t it? Last night the moon looked like it was almost full.”

“Tonight.”

Sirius suddenly perked up. “Hey Moony, can I come with you?”

Lupin shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. You might get caught. And it might even be too harsh for a dog. I go to the Northwest Highlands.”

“Dangerous? At least if you’re with me, I can keep you away from people. I’m at least as hardy as any sheepdog in Scotland.”

“You might not be able to control me by yourself anyway. It used to be both of you.”

“I kept you from the kids that night at Hogwarts, didn’t I?”

Lupin shuddered. “That was one time.”

“That was a place of human habitation,” said Sirius. “We won’t be near people this time. Anyway, I can control you more than you can control yourself. Come on, Moony, it’ll be just like old times. Moony and Padfoot. You won’t have to worry for once. We’ll have a ball. Just the two of us.”

“I’m sorry, Padfoot. It’s too dangerous. The place I go to has strange magic, and there are strange predators there, I feel it when I transform back. I’m not even sure a big dog would be safe all night there. A werewolf is very hard to kill, you know.”

“So we don’t have to go as far,” said Sirius. “If you’re with me, it doesn’t have to be the Northwest Highlands.” He squeezed Lupin’s shoulder and said more quietly and cajolingly, “Come on, Moony. Just the two of us.” Lupin was starting to wonder about the extent of Sirius’s interest in him. After all, the man had been in solitary confinement for twelve years, maybe thirteen and counting. Then Sirius came out with a very infantile question.

“How come you get to risk your life, and I don’t?”

“You have a choice, and I don’t. Besides, you have someone here who needs you.” _And I don’t_ , thought Lupin, but he did not say it aloud, because he did not want to sound as if he were asking for a contradiction.

He felt he had to bite the bullet. “Padfoot, you can’t follow me where I’m going.” But he could not tell Sirius the truth, for if he knew, Sirius would dog him at the risk of being caught, would dog him to the Arctic if it came to that. How could he say goodbye?

“I mean, I risk my life every time. If I should disappear—” But speaking the last word aloud, Lupin suddenly remembered something that he had strangely forgotten for months: Dumbledore’s note.

_Don’t disappear, Remus. I may have work for you in the future that no one else can do._

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t have to risk your life or disappear,” said Sirius sulkily. “I’m big and furry. I could keep you warm when you transform back.”

“Padfoot,” said Lupin, glad to change the subject, “after I left Hogwarts, Dumbledore sent me a note saying he might have work for me in the future that no one else could do. Do you have any idea what he might have been talking about?”

“Maybe it has something to do with the epic battle between the forces of good and evil,” said Sirius.

Lupin laughed. “And which side of that would I be on?”

Sirius frowned. “I’m not joking, Remus. A lot of people think Voldemort may come back. He was never really gone, you know. Harry confronted him in his first year, when he was possessing a teacher. And Sybil Trelawney made a prophecy—”

“Sybil Trelawney?”

“Harry said this one was different, that she wasn’t like her usual self at all, and she didn’t remember making it, so it wasn’t a deliberate hoax. He said that when he told Dumbledore, Dumbledore took it seriously, and said it sounded like the second real prophecy she ever made.”

“Do you know what it said?”

“It said he would come back, more terrible or powerful than before, or something like that. That his servant was leaving that night to join him.”

Lupin started. “Was it _that_ night? Do you think--?”

“Peter? Who knows? Voldemort has lots of servants, though the most loyal ones are in Azkaban. But you know a lot of the Death Eaters who recanted hadn’t really changed their minds. They’re afraid of his return, because he might kill them as traitors. But he can’t kill all of them, or he wouldn’t have enough followers.”

“But where do I come in? What can I do, that no one else can do?”

Sirius withdrew his arm and looked at him. “You say you go to wild places. Do you always just Disapparate there, and Apparate back right away, or do you need to do any hiking in between? Do you spend any time in wild places?”

“I often hike quite far to get to a place to Disapparate, so as to be sure I’m not seen. After my episode, I may have to move out of danger, and sometimes I need to rest awhile before I have the strength to Apparate back.”

“And when you leave for your little furry episode, do you take your wand?”

“Of course not. I’d lose it.”

“So you wake up in some wild place without a wand, may have to scramble over rocks or through vegetation without a path, and maybe hang out for a few hours?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know some wandless magic?”

“I know a lot of wandless magic. And even in my human form, my senses are keener than those of most humans. I feel more at home in the forest than they do.”

“Exactly my point. And you’ve lived among wizards, among Muggles, and among werewolves, fitting in well enough to get by—to survive, at least. Remus, can’t you _see_ that you have skills that most wizards don’t have? If Voldemort becomes more powerful than ever, Dumbledore will need all the help he can get.”

Lupin was quiet.

“You always had—some kind of instinct,” Sirius added.

“The instinct to keep my head down, and keep out of other people’s disputes? The instinct to leave before I was chucked out? The instinct to let other people fight my battles for me? The instinct to suppress the truth from my conscious mind?”

“You sound as if you didn’t hear a single word I said,” said Sirius, and there was an anger in his tone that was beyond shouting.

But Lupin had heard what Sirius had said, and it had sunk in.

“Anyway,” Sirius said, “what are you going to do until tonight?”

Lupin suddenly realized that it was urgent that he get some chocolate. He stood up. “I need to go to Hogsmeade for some chocolate.” He also suddenly noticed how starved his friend looked, and wondered why he had not noticed before. “Sirius, I have to bring you some food,” he said anxiously.

“Chocolate?” said Sirius, looking at him closely again. “Any food would be welcome, Remus.”

Lupin was suddenly businesslike. “I have enough money to buy groceries in the town, and if anyone sees me leave town with them in a bag on my back, I’ll just look like I’ve set off on a hike through the countryside. I’ll come around the other side of the mountain, and I won’t stick to any path. I have a light tread, and if anyone is following me, which is very unlikely, I’ll hear them half a mile away. I’ll Disapparate out of here.” Without losing a minute, he Disapparated with a pop.

Arriving at the outskirts of Hogsmeade, he went immediately to Honeyduke’s and bought two large hunks of chocolate, one for himself and one for Sirius, and also some dried fruit. He found a good-sized sack there suitable for carrying provisions on his back, because the sweet shop liked to encourage people to carry away as much as possible. He bit into his chocolate immediately and felt a cheering, warm sensation he knew well. Could it have been?…a chill fog seemed to be lifted from his mind and his thoughts became clearer. Sirius could starve. Sirius needed him.

He sought food that would pack high calorie content in a relatively small space. He went to the Three Broomsticks pub, which also sold food, and picked up some savory meat pies, oatcakes, apples, and a large bag of shelled chestnuts. He set off and made it back to the cave with his bundle, which he deposited at Sirius’s feet.

“Best I could do, old chum. My time approaches.”

Though he was ravenous, Sirius only glanced at the bag, and turned his hungry eyes on his friend. “You will come back, won’t you, Remus? I will see you again, won’t I?”

“Yes, you will,” said Lupin, and he was not lying.

The two men embraced again and Sirius was surprised that Lupin, who was usually less demonstrative, squeezed him for a moment as if hanging on for dear life before regaining his usual composure.

“Nice seeing you, Padfoot. Take care.”

“I’m glad you came, Remus.”

“Me too.” And Lupin turned on his heel and was gone.


	4. Lupin Meets Tonks

Voldemort came back, the Order of the Phoenix rose again, and once again wizarding society had a place for Remus Lupin. For the members of the Order were witches and wizards of the best heart, and they seemed neither to fear him nor to look down on him, united as they were in a common cause.

Their headquarters was in Sirius’s house, the old house of the Darkest of aristocratic pure-blood Slytherin families, and Lupin now understood as never before why Sirius had hated his family and why he had run away. He saw testaments to their snobbery and trophies of their cruelty everywhere. The very motto _Toujours Pur_ seemed like a reproach to his own contaminated blood, though he knew it was mostly aimed at Muggle-born witches and wizards. He suspected that werewolves, like Muggles, were so far beneath their contempt that they were only objects to be hunted and killed. The portrait of Sirius’s mother, which screamed about all the freaks now in her house, screamed most about filthy blood traitors and filthy Mudbloods or half-bloods, and only occasionally mentioned werewolves, and Lupin supposed he might be as clean in their eyes as the troll whose foot was cut off to make their umbrella stand.

But the evil of the place was more than compensated for by the goodness of the people in it. It was a treat to him to see Harry and Hermione again, and he found himself very glad to see the Weasleys as well, for that lively tribe of amiable redheads seemed to dispel the gloom even with the color of their hair, a bright patch of which was always appearing everywhere. Molly Weasley had moved into the kitchen and was cooking up delicious meals for everyone, and leading a heroic effort to transform this long-abandoned house of Dark Magic into a cozy domestic scene. And there was another new presence who Lupin thought improved their society greatly.

Sirius’s favorite cousin Andromeda had, like Sirius, been burned out of the Black family tree, in her case for marrying a Muggle-born wizard. Their cute daughter, Nymphadora Tonks, who insisted that everyone call her Tonks, was already an Auror. People wondered how she could manage to sneak quietly around Dark Wizards, given her tendency to spatial disorientation, but Lupin believed she had the grit that was the most important quality for an Auror. She also had a quality that he admired because he did not see it in himself: that of not caring much what other people thought of her.

Lupin was concerned about Harry, who was understandably miserable about being kept so much in the dark about what was going on. He agreed with Sirius that Harry, given the things he had done, should be treated more like an adult, but he dared not express it as loudly, for he imagined that Molly already saw him as a threat to the kids. They were all worried about the mysterious appearance of dementors in Harry’s Muggle neighborhood, and about the threat of Harry’s expulsion for daring to save his own and his cousin’s lives, but when the decision came down in favor of Harry, and they all heard that Harry had impressed the entire Wizengamot with the news that he had produced a corporeal Patronus, Lupin could not help feeling especially proud, because he knew that Harry had done the same thing over a year earlier, and it was he who had taught Harry to make a Patronus.

Lupin had been greatly impressed by Harry’s determination to face down his worst fear at the age of thirteen, and had realized then that Harry was much braver than most wizards. He could empathize with the particular challenge Harry faced in doing this magic, for like Harry, Lupin had a lot more unhappy memories than happy ones. But sometimes when a determined person faces a particularly difficult challenge, he becomes better than most at the thing he faced obstacles in overcoming. Lupin thought that perhaps the difficulties of his own life had made him a better teacher, because he understood the obstacles faced by those who were trying to learn. It occurred to him that whatever he had done wrong that year, and however much of his life had been wasted, at least he had taught those kids something.

***

Sirius was very morose at being a prisoner in the hated home of his childhood, which was deadly dangerous for him to leave, now that his dog disguise might be known and both the Ministry and Voldemort had their nets out for him everywhere. But he had great joy in the sight of Harry and some comfort in the sight of Lupin, and he was not averse to the sight of his young cousin either.

One time she wandered into the kitchen and found him alone, nursing a butterbeer, and he brightened when he saw her.

“Wotcher, Sirius,” she said.

“Nymfy!” he said happily.

“The name’s Tonks.”

“Your mother called you that when you were little.”

“Well I guess she liked that stupid name, or she wouldn’t have given it to me.”

“Must we really call you by your surname, _Tonks_? It seems so impersonal.”

“Think of it as a nickname, _Padfoot_ ,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek, and walked away. To her surprise he caught her hand, twirled her around, and pulled her into his lap. He started running a hand up her side and was about to kiss her, but she got up, and when he tried to follow she pushed him back down in his chair, which he barely stopped from tipping him backwards onto the floor.

“You’re my _cousin_ , Sirius,” she said, more to explain why she had kissed him than to suggest he was being incestuous.

“First cousin, once removed,” he recited. He turned away and suddenly looked very ashamed. She remembered that he had been in solitary confinement for twelve years, maybe fourteen and counting, and thinking what that would mean for anyone, she felt sorry for him.

“Once too many, Sirius,” she said kindly, “and we hope you’ll never be removed again.”

But she left the room, for he was not the person she was looking for.

***

Sirius’s moping was starting to get on Lupin’s nerves, because he knew that one of the reasons for it was that Lupin still refused to let Sirius accompany him on his transformation journeys. The thing that bugged Lupin was that Sirius still did not seem to understand that for Lupin these journeys were not a fun adventure but a very tragic necessity. Lupin could not forget that in their youth Sirius would deliberately seek out danger while Lupin always had it painfully thrust upon him.

Tonks, for her part, was becoming irritated by Sirius’s inability to find anything worth doing in the house, combined with his bitter complaints about Kreacher. “He thinks his life has no meaning unless he’s out risking it,” she said to Lupin, “but he expects everything else to be taken care of by a house-elf or a housewife. Don’t you think if he helped around the house a bit more, he and Molly might get along better?”

Lupin, surprised that Tonks would confide in him about Sirius, was startled into honesty. “Molly doesn’t want you in the kitchen, Tonks. Do you think she’d want Sirius?”

***

“I think I’ll sort out that boggart before I turn in,” he heard Molly say, as if she were going to clean dust balls out of the old desk. Lupin was concerned, and his senses were alert as he heard her climb the stairs, for confronting a boggart alone was something different from confronting it in a group, where it would be confused. Lupin knew that there was nothing more dangerous than fear, since both his own fear and the fear others had of him had devastated him as no other curse could have done. He had made confronting a boggart one of his first lessons when he taught at Hogwarts, because he had known that if his students successfully confronted the image of their worst fear, it would give them the heart that would be their greatest asset in fighting any kind of Dark Magic.

When he followed the sounds to the landing he was struck by what he saw, because he had seen many people confront boggarts, and what they feared most was usually some threat to themselves. But what she feared most was harm to her husband or children, which she could not make ridiculous, since it was only too likely. He immediately turned the boggart on himself and for an instant he saw the full moon, but before he had time to be afraid, he willed himself to see the man in the moon and spoke the word “ _Riddikulus!_ ” and it evaporated with a small poof. He walked over to Molly and she fell into his arms, sobbing. And he was moved that this mother, who feared more than anything for the safety of her children, the safety he had once threatened, now trusted him enough to cry on his shoulder.

***

Tonks was becoming increasingly interested in Lupin and took any opportunity she could to catch anything he let drop about his life. She thought it was shameful that the Ministry could not even decide whether to classify werewolves as “beasts” or “beings,” when in fact they were fully human ninety-eight percent of the time, which in her view made them humans with a particular problem. She knew that most werewolves would not go near the Ministry, and she found “Werewolf Support Services” to be something of a joke. Most of them were understandably alienated, given all the rejection they suffered, and became cynical about their hunting of other humans. Most hung around in an underground den off Knockturn Alley, drugging themselves with firewhiskey and supporting themselves through dubious underground activities. She found out that Lupin had been ousted from every regular job he had ever had when his condition was discovered, and yet before his transformations he Apparated to the most remote part of Scotland, where in the winter he risked hypothermia when he transformed to his human form, in order to minimize his chances of encountering anyone to attack. And now he had rejoined friends most of whom had not enquired after him for over ten years, to serve in a conflict that most werewolves hardly cared about.

She saw that he was very observant and aware of what was going on, and that his was often a voice of reason among them. She saw that he was sensitive and eager to help in many situations, but seemed to be constrained by a sort of caution that she thought came from fear of rejection, very well-founded considering how most witches and wizards usually reacted to werewolves. It was something that had been deeply conditioned in him, she knew, for it would not be a reaction to his treatment in the Order. And she thought that if something could encourage him and give him the confidence he lacked, his kind and caring nature would be set free.

To her his patched-up luggage, shabby clothes and often fuzzy, unshaven face all had a certain raffish charm. When she studied his features she could see that he had been quite nice-looking in his youth, which had not been so long ago. On those rare occasions when he looked happy, she thought he was nice-looking still. She thought that if only something could make him happy on a regular basis, he would be a handsome man.

Lupin noticed that Tonks looked at him a great deal with what he assumed was a look of pity. Although he often felt sorry for himself, he found his hackles rising a bit at the idea that this young woman thought that he was so much more to be pitied than anyone else. He was not sure he was more to be pitied than Sirius, who had been in Azkaban for twelve years, a fugitive for two more, and who was now trapped in this haunted house of bad memories, having to listen to his mother scream horrible things at people all the time. He thought she might have spared some pity for Mad-Eye Moody, who had lost a number of body parts and suffered from a bad case of paranoia, or even for Mundungus Fletcher, who was despised by everyone else in the Order. He had to admit that she did occasionally cast a pitying look at Sirius, but it was clear that she reserved most of her pity for him.

He always looked increasingly anxious as the full moon approached. The nights were getting longer and colder, and she knew it would be starting to freeze in the Northwest Highlands. She knew she must talk to him before he left. She followed him into the room where he had been sleeping, and found him packing Muggle clothes into his battered suitcase.

“It’s tomorrow night, isn’t it?”

“What? Yes.”

“How will you get there?”

He sighed. “I’ll take a Muggle train to Edinburgh, and then Apparate to the northern forest. I wish I could fly north, but I don’t know anyone up there, and I’d have no safe place to leave my broom. I used to check my wand at Gringotts, but now at least I can leave it with Sirius.” He looked terribly weary. “I’m so sick of pretending to be a Muggle, and of long distance Apparating, you have no idea, Tonks. But I’m afraid those are my only choices.”

That look of pity again. But after what he just said, he knew he deserved it.

“But you always come back, don’t you?”

“Well, so far, but I suppose it wouldn’t be much of a loss if I didn’t.”

“It would be a terrible loss, Remus. You have no idea of your own worth.”

“What?” he said, startled this time.

“I mean you always come back, don’t you? You never stop trying. You’ve gotten almost nothing but rejection from the Wizarding World, and if the Muggles had known you were a werewolf they’d probably have killed you. And yet you never stop trying to protect people who’ve done nothing for you. I know what most werewolves are like. They stop thinking it’s wrong to attack humans, or they’d go completely bonkers. But you’ve never lost your human conscience, and never stopped struggling with the combination of that and of knowing what you are.”

Lupin looked at her with increasing fascination, for he thought everything she said was true, and no one had ever expressed any appreciation for it before. And then came the words that for once in his life made him doubt his sharp ears:

“I think you’re the most courageous man I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you, Tonks,” he said as she came nearer. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

She drew him to her to kiss him, but when he saw her intention, he pushed her away with an expression on his face of something like terror.

“No! Oh no,” he said.

She too was taken aback. “No? I’m sorry. I thought—”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and hastily left the room.

He wandered anxiously into an empty room. So she did not just pity him, she admired him, perhaps even desired him? She must not know what his condition meant for his relationships with women. Maybe she was just fooling around. But her words had been serious. If she just wanted to have some fun, she was unlikely to choose him, since he was so much older and so shabby looking, besides being a werewolf. If she was serious he’d better discourage it, or she would wind up getting hurt like the others had. If there were bad feelings it would be bad for the Order, she was a friend and comrade in the Order, he would not allow it.

***

“Sirius, you’re my kinsman. Can I ask you something in confidence?”

“Sure.”

“I’m interested in Remus, and he rebuffs me. Do you think he’s not attracted to me, or that it’s for some other reason?”

“Probably for another reason,” said Sirius. “He’s ashamed of his little furry problem. Besides, he probably thinks he’s too old for you.”

“Do you think you could ask him, in some manner where you’d get the truth, whether or not he finds me attractive?”

“I don’t know, Tonks. Remus is pretty sharp. He might not tell the truth if he doesn’t want it known.”

“Could you get him drunk and ask him?”

Sirius laughed. “You’re really a number, cuz.”

***

Sirius tried to hand Lupin his fourth butterbeer, but Lupin pushed it away.

“I’ve sometimes had a problem with drinking, Sirius. I have to be careful, now I’m in the Order.”

Sirius realized he might already have blown it. He pretended to muse before changing the subject.

“You know, I think Tonks is a real asset to the Order.”

“I think so too, Sirius,” said Lupin.

“Now she’s an Auror, those Death Eaters may tremble.”

“Indeed they may.”

“Do you think she’s attractive? It was a tradition in my family.”

“Yes, I do,” said Lupin, with obvious sincerity, though he thought this rather an odd question about someone who could change her appearance at will, and was amused to hear this sort of family pride from someone who had hated his family. But it was justified, he thought, smiling dreamily as he remembered how both Sirius and his evil cousin Bellatrix had been drop dead gorgeous before their respective stints in Azkaban. Then he suddenly looked frightened and rose from his chair. But Sirius was satisfied that he had already caught his prey.

***

They were alone, but Sirius made a show of whispering in her ear. “He likes you.”

“But does he—?”

“Yes. Don’t give up, Tonks.”

***

Lupin was making a very determined effort never to be alone with Tonks, but one time she walked in on him when he was reading in the drawing room, and he saw that there was no easy escape. He felt a bit like a trapped animal that was unsure whether to run away or play dead. He decided on the latter course.

She thought she better come quickly to the point. “I’m not sure you realize I was serious. Not just in what I said, but in—I mean, I’m interested in you.”

“Yes, you do seem to be rather,” he said dispassionately, pretending he did not know what she meant.

“I mean, I’m interested in going out with you.”

“Where to?”

“Remus, stop it. I mean I’m interested in you as—as a man.”

“Oh. Well it’s too bad I’m not one, then.”

“How can you talk like that?”

“Easily. I am an uncouth beast with no social graces.”

She turned and left the room angrily, and the door slammed behind her. Lupin was shaking.

***

Lupin asked Sirius if he would mind telling Tonks that he would stop avoiding her company if she would agree not to make any more overtures.

“Sorry, Remus,” said Sirius coldly. “You’ll have to speak for yourself this time.” For he thought that rejecting his cousin’s overtures was the stupidest thing Lupin had ever done.

***

She was surprised that he followed her into the room and sat down next to her.

“Tonks, I owe you an apology for the way I spoke to you last time.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I’m very flattered that you’re interested in me. In fact, I’m overwhelmed. But I have to tell you why I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She waited.

“You see,” he said, as if making some impressive new revelation, “I am a werewolf.”

“I’ve known that since I met you, and it didn’t stop me from falling in love with you, so you’ll have to come up with something else.”

He looked very alarmed at the words “falling in love.”

“This is what you think now, but you don’t know what it would be like living with me. I can’t keep a job for long, even if I can find one. I can’t ask you to support me. Every month I make a dangerous journey, and some time may not come back. I may be _killing_ people for all I know, or turning them into werewolves. I have nightmares about it, and I’m not even sure I wouldn’t bite someone in my sleep.”

“Remus, I’ve already told you that I admire you for surviving all this. You would be so much better off with a partner. I’ve heard it all already, except the nightmares. I could wake you up and comfort you. I could give you lots of new material for your dreams.”

 _Oh no_ , thought Lupin. _This has already gone way too far_. “You don’t know what you’re getting into,” he said. “You will change your mind, and the longer it takes, the more you’ll get hurt.”

She was getting annoyed at this patronage. “So you think I’ll stay with you for awhile, and then leave you? Are you sure it isn’t yourself you’re protecting?”

“No, Tonks. My heart was broken beyond repair long ago, and I gave up all expectations of this kind of thing. I’m too poor to have much to lose. I’m too low to have far to fall. But you—you’re young, Tonks. If you expend a lot of time and energy on me, which I can see is what you intend, you will end up regretting the lost time. You will regret the people you could have met in the meantime who would have made you happier. Why should a young, healthy, attractive woman like you be tied to an old werewolf?”

She looked surprised. “You were in Sirius’s class, weren’t you? You must be in your thirties! You’re not that old.”

“Do I look like I’m in my thirties?”

“Does Sirius look like he’s in his thirties?”

“What on earth does that have to do with it?”

She had to admit he had a point there. “Remus, can’t you see it’s the life they’ve made you lead? Don’t you think that love could heal you—?”

But again he winced at the word, and she was starting to think it would be best to back off for the time being. She was thinking of a plan that would be slower, but hopefully more fruitful in the long run.

“If we drop this subject for now, can we still be friends?” she asked.

He was immensely relieved. “That’s just what I was going to ask you.”

So friends they remained, and no one took any notice. No one knew what had passed between them except Sirius, and he kept quiet about it, out of consideration for both of them.

***

Tonks knew that the thing that would help Lupin the most and the most quickly would be to obtain the Wolfsbane Potion. She knew that Snape had made it for him the year he taught at Hogwarts. She asked him whether he had ever been able to get it after that.

“No, unfortunately. The apothecary on Diagon Alley doesn’t even know how to make it, and he says the ingredients are difficult to obtain, so it’s expensive. I ordered it, but he doesn’t know whether he’ll ever get it. Apparently the wizard who invented it wasn’t as public-spirited as he was cracked up to be.”

“But Professor Snape knows how to make it? Didn’t he make it for you at the school? Isn’t there any chance he would make it for you again?”

“I doubt it. Severus hates me.”

“Why?”

“I was a member of a clique that was horrible to him at school.”

“At _school_? Wasn’t that _twenty years ago_?”

“He has a hard time letting go,” said Lupin sadly. “He helped to get me sacked.”

“Did he stop making the potion?”

“Not while I was at the school. It was Dumbledore’s decision to hire me, though Severus tried to talk him out of it. Severus couldn’t refuse to make the potion then. He did it for the school, not for me. The way he wanted to get me sacked was not by having me attack a bunch of students.”

“It wouldn’t have to be for you now, either, would it? Isn’t it for your potential victims?”

“It isn’t his responsibility any more.”

“Did you ever think of writing to him, and just hearing what he would say?”

“I did think of it, in fact I came close to doing it, but I realized it would be pointless. I wouldn’t have been able to pay him for long, and he dislikes me too much to do me a favor. I think he’d prefer to see me captured and killed.”

“I could help to pay for it, and I’m sure there are others in the Order who would. What about Dumbledore?”

“What about him?”

“Did he say anything to you about it before you left? Give you any advice? Did he just set you loose on the world?”

“He probably knew there was no way I could get it.”

“Did he say that?”

“No.”

“Did you ask him?”

“No. I couldn’t ask any more favors of Dumbledore. I left in disgrace.”

“Well, it sounds as if you don’t owe a lot of favors to Snape. But now there’s a war on, aren’t we all responsible for each other? Why is he fighting Voldemort, unless he cares about all of us?”

“I don’t know, Tonks. The man is inscrutable. Who can figure him out?”

“If you don’t know, what do you have to lose by asking him?”

“I know what his answer would be.”

Tonks sucked air through her teeth. “How do you _know_ , if you haven’t asked him?”

“I know Severus.”

“No you don’t. You just said he was inscrutable.”

Lupin was quiet.

“Well, if you won’t write to him, I will. But it’s ridiculous. Maybe his _response_ will help us figure him out.”

“Fine. You do that. And give me a chance to say ‘I told you so.’ ”

Snape’s response took longer than Lupin expected, but when it came, its contents did not surprise him.

_Dear Ms. Tonks,_

_I believe Dumbledore has other plans for Lupin. My own assignment from the Order is demanding and dangerous. The Wolfsbane Potion is time-consuming to make, and the ingredients are difficult to obtain at a time like this. Since you are an Auror, I suggest that you not waste your time acting as Mr. Lupin’s secretary._

_Severus Snape_

Tonks was not amused. “I told you you should write to him yourself,” she said testily.

“It obviously wouldn’t have made any difference.” But what were these “other plans” Dumbledore had for him? What work could he do better without the Wolfsbane Potion? _I may have work for you in the future that no one else can do_. Lupin was starting to feel a sort of apprehensive dread.

***

It was the hardest subject to broach, but she felt she must broach it, if she was going to understand his situation well enough to help.

“Remus, are you still in touch with your family? I’ve never heard you mention them.”

“No.”

“You said you went underground because you couldn’t make a living here. Is that when you lost touch?”

“No, it was before that. It was after I left school.”

“But they must have kept visiting you when you were at school. They must have been very proud that you did so well on your exams, and to see you graduate. How did that relationship end so suddenly?”

“It wasn’t really so sudden. When I was at Hogwarts, my relationship with them became more and more superficial. They came when the other parents did, but those visits weren’t usually private, and they were constrained by the fact that it was a secret that I was a werewolf. I stayed at Hogwarts in the summer so I could use the Shrieking Shack. My parents didn’t know of any other way to make my transformations safe. I became closer to my friends at school than to them. James Potter and Sirius and Peter Pettigrew were my family.”

“I don’t really understand. Was that a reason to sever ties with your own family?”

“Tonks, do you know why Sirius is an Animagus?”

“Didn’t he do it to keep you company and protect people from you? Wasn’t it that business about how you all turned into animals and explored the area at the full moon? It sounded like great fun.”

“Yes, it was great fun, and very dangerous to others. If Dumbledore had found out, we probably would have been expelled. Dumbledore would have been very disillusioned and disappointed in me, as he ended up being later, but it would have killed my parents.

“When I was bitten, my parents thought I was condemned. They spent years trying to find anything they could to cure my lycanthropy, but there was no cure. Then came Dumbledore. Dumbledore was the only headmaster who would ever have admitted a werewolf to Hogwarts. He went to great trouble to make the arrangements for it, with the enchantments on the Shrieking Shack and the Whomping Willow, and keeping the reason a secret from everyone. My parents understood that better than I did, because I was just a little boy. Dumbledore was the only wizard who ever tried to give a werewolf such a chance in life. Can you imagine how they would have felt if I had been thrown back on them because I had thrown it away?”

“But you never did harm anyone, and you weren’t expelled, were you? Your parents didn’t have to know. Remus, lots of teenagers break the rules and keep secrets from their parents. Your friends were doing it too. Only with you the stakes were higher because of a condition that was not your fault. You alone were supposed to suffer. You would have had to be better than the others just to break even.” 

Again, this understanding that he had never heard from anyone else.

“What happened after you left the school?”

“That was during the First War. I was in the Order of the Phoenix. It was a secret organization.”

Tonks looked at him as if he were crazy. “We’re all in the Order of the Phoenix, and that doesn’t mean we lose our families. Most of our families are supportive. Most can keep a secret, and if they don’t, we do. Of course it was different with Sirius. But your family didn’t support Voldemort, did they?”

“Of course not.”

“How did you lose them, then?”

“I never gave them my address. I wanted to spare them the pain of either having to disown me or having a werewolf for a son.”

Tonks looked even more incredulous. “They had accepted you for ten years as a werewolf and as their son! You disowned them! You wanted to spare them by breaking their hearts?”

“It was different when I was little. When they sent me to Hogwarts, it was just about the time I was starting to become dangerous. You should have seen how relieved they were to get me off their hands, and who could blame them? You should have seen how happy they were to put me on the train.”

“Remus, they must have been happy that you were going to Hogwarts!” There were tears in her eyes. “They were probably _proud_ of you.”

He looked away.

“Tonks, no one wants a werewolf for a son.” His voice had become shaky. “They couldn’t ever disown me, because I was their son. I couldn’t ask them to support me as an adult. They would have felt obliged to, because I couldn’t keep a job. They would have felt responsible for what I did when I was transformed. Can you imagine what it would have done to them, knowing their son was a murderer?”

“A murderer? They knew you couldn’t help what you did when you were transformed. They would have been proud that you didn’t want to be like the other werewolves, that you wanted to work, that you served in the war, and that you wanted to protect others. They might have been able to help you.”

She couldn’t understand what he said, but only heard a strange noise.

“You didn’t want to know, did you? It was easier to assume they didn’t want you than to find out, wasn’t it? It was yourself you were trying to spare, wasn’t it?”

He had turned his back to her, and she realized he was actually crying. He would not want her to see that. She suddenly felt terrible about putting him through this, when she did not have the option of taking him in her arms and comforting him. It was something she often wanted to do, but she resisted the impulse, because she was afraid if she did it she would drive him away again.

“I’m sorry, Remus. It was none of my business.”

***

“Remus, when you left your post at Hogwarts, did Dumbledore ask for your resignation, or did you offer it first?”

“Second one. I wanted to spare him the pain of having to ask for it.”

“Why would he ask for it?”

“It became generally known that I was a werewolf, and the parents would have been terrified for their kids, and would have demanded it.”

“How did it become known?”

“Severus outed me at the breakfast table.”

“And Dumbledore let him get _away_ with that?” she said indignantly.

“Tonks, he had made the potion for me the night before, and I forgot to take it, because I ran out after Peter when I found out he was alive. That was when I found out Sirius was innocent, the night Sirius made his second escape. Severus still thought Sirius was guilty and that I was conspiring with him.” She need not know that Severus tried to send him to Azkaban. She might think that was unforgivable, and it was bad enough having Sirius and Severus at each other’s throats.

“That was a night of strange events, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, very strange.”

“Sirius told me about his escape. It sounded like something straight out of a children’s fairy tale. He said that Harry and Hermione traveled in time and helped him escape on the back of that hippogriff. That was, of course, after Harry had saved all of their lives by perfectly reproducing his father’s Patronus. They must have had a time-turner, but where on earth did they get it? The Ministry hardly gives them out to anyone.”

“Hermione had it so she could study a million subjects at once. You know, Tonks, I’ll be cursed if there’s anything those kids can’t do. It’s a good thing they were there, because I was worse than useless. I was off in the woods having my little furry episode.” There was an increasing note of self-disgust in his voice. “It was my fault—”

“That you taught Harry to make a Patronus. Well, it’s a good thing they’re on our side, or we’d be done for. But Remus, the circumstances were extraordinary. You would never have forgotten again, would you?”

“I couldn’t take a chance. Anyway, the parents would never have given me one.”

“Did the parents know about the Wolfsbane Potion?”

“I doubt it. It was a recent invention.”

“Couldn’t Dumbledore have tried to educate them about it? You had the whole summer, didn’t you?”

“If Dumbledore thought that was possible, he would have done it before I even started. Dumbledore is the most liberal-minded wizard in the world, and he didn’t think I could work there openly as a werewolf. He had enough trouble convincing the staff. Can you imagine the parents?”

“That was before you had proved yourself as a teacher, wasn’t it? Remus, Harry and his friends said the kids really liked you. They said you were a great teacher. Wouldn’t the parents also have heard that from their kids?”

“Adults don’t listen to kids very much, unfortunately. Tonks, they would have been terrified. If they had started pulling their kids out of the school, it would not only have been a disaster for Dumbledore and Hogwarts, it would have been a disaster for the whole Wizarding World.”

“You just assumed they would demand your resignation. Couldn’t you have made a case for yourself, and then accepted Dumbledore’s decision, whatever it was?”

“I couldn’t do that to Dumbledore.”

“Or you couldn’t stand to hear him say no.”

“I did hear it. Tonks, Dumbledore doesn’t accept people’s resignations unless he wants them to leave. He argues with them.”

“Dumbledore may be the most liberal older wizard, but we need to look to the future. You’re a man, Remus. Did it ever occur to you that you could live without Dumbledore’s patronage? What do you have to lose by speaking up? The Ministry is in a very regressive phase right now, but some of us are determined to see change, and change can’t just come from the top. Werewolves who want to go mainstream need to try to make their case, not just accept the dictates of the ignorant.”

Lupin could remember having this discussion over a year earlier, and suddenly a picture flashed in his mind of a warm, brash, optimistic idealist whose genuine concern for others had not yet left a streak of grey in his dark brown hair or a line in his fresh young face.

“Say, Tonks, did you ever meet Steve Gillyfeld at St. Mungo’s? He’d be perfect for you.”

Tonks looked at him sadly, but Lupin followed his train of thought. Gillyfeld had been very outspoken against the Ministry even then, and the Ministry had become much worse. Lupin knew that Lucius Malfoy had been showering gold on the hospital in recent years in order to promote his image as a philanthropist, which had helped gain him influence at the Ministry. It occurred to Lupin that if Gillyfeld knew that Voldemort was back or that Malfoy was a Death Eater, his job might be in jeopardy, perhaps even his life. Lupin doubted that contact with him would help him any. He suspected that Gillyfeld was not Order of the Phoenix material, because he could not imagine that Healer either wielding a wand as a weapon or keeping a secret.

When he looked at Tonks again, he saw that she had been musing too.

“Maybe Hogwarts isn’t the best place to start, since the teachers live at the school, which means being there at night, and kids may be slower in seeing the warning signs of danger, though they certainly have to learn quickly there. But Remus, did you ever think of teaching adults?”

“Adults? They are very busy with their jobs and families. They tend to be settled in their ways, and have already learned whatever magic they need to use.”

“That’s just it, they have been settled in their ways, so they haven’t kept up with magic that they don’t usually use. But you’ve had to live with danger and uncertainty all your life. Even pretending to be a Muggle with a magic act must have taken tremendous control over your magic, and you’ve always had to deal with your transformations. You knew your stuff well enough to come back and be a good Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Witches and wizards can sense danger in the air, whatever the Ministry wants them to think. I bet there are many who would like to brush up on skills that have become rusty. There are many adult witches and wizards who can’t even make a corporeal Patronus.”

“Then I’d probably have to teach at night, because most people work during the day.”

“Not necessarily. Witches and wizards have all kinds of schedules. Anyway, it wouldn’t be mandatory, like at Hogwarts. They could quit whenever they wanted to. You wouldn’t need to advertise yourself as a werewolf. If they found out, you could just show them the schedule and the lunar calendar, and they would see that you were nowhere near them at the full moon. You could say that you didn’t mention it because it wasn’t relevant to the services you were offering. If they didn’t like it, they could always quit. But eventually you would build up a client base, because you’re good. Kids you taught at Hogwarts will soon be adults, and they may give you references or want to follow up with you. It would probably be more fruitful than trying to convince some stupid old wizard to hire you at a regular job.”

As he listened, Lupin had tried to find an objection to what she was saying, but realized that in fact she had a brilliant idea.

“You know, Tonks, that’s a great idea. Why didn’t I ever think of that?”

“Because you have a depressed way of thinking. But you know, Remus, sometimes it takes a fresh pair of eyes. It’s easier to think of solutions to other people’s problems than to your own.”

“I won’t be able to start now, though, and probably not until the end of the war. It would take time to get it off the ground, and it sounds as if Dumbledore has some mission planned for me that will probably take all my time.”

“I think you’re right. But remember in the meantime that you have a promising future.”

He became abstracted. “But you know, there’s nothing like teaching kids, because their minds are open and flexible. They haven’t become too discouraged yet to change their ideas of what they can do. You can convince them that they can do anything they want if they have enough determination, and if they believe it, it will be true. They make amazing progress, if you encourage them and give them confidence.”

She felt how sad it was that he had lost his teaching post, and thought he must be feeling that too, but when she looked at his face again she saw it illuminated with one of those rare looks of joy that took ten years off it and made him so handsome in her eyes.

“You know, Remus,” she said a little mischievously, “there are other ways of having a relationship with kids besides being a teacher. If you want—” But she checked herself, because his face had gone deadpan.

She was increasingly puzzled. They were very often alone together, often near each other, and she knew he confided in her and talked to her about things he would never discuss with the others, though it may have been that the others never asked. She always felt like making physical demonstrations of affection and support to him, but always checked herself, and she knew that this was obvious and that, observant as he was, he must notice; but he completely ignored it and evinced no interest in it. Had Sirius been wrong? Maybe Remus had spoken warmly of her and Sirius had gotten the wrong impression. Such misunderstandings happened. She was starting to think that if he had any sexual feelings for her at all, this was the most masterful performance of self-control she had ever seen. But she reflected that a skilled wizard who had pretended to be a Muggle for ten years must be capable of a masterful performance of self-control.

***

Lupin and Sirius were worried all year about Harry, who had an especially tough row to hoe that year, what with most people at Hogwarts thinking he was crazy, the Ministry out to get him, the _Daily Prophet_ telling lies about him, Dumbledore avoiding him, Voldemort trying to break into his mind, and the only person available to teach him to resist being a teacher who treated him like dirt. Of course they all knew about that horrible witch who had been sicced on Hogwarts by the Ministry to make sure the students didn’t learn anything, especially that Voldemort was back. Earlier in the year, the news had trickled into Order headquarters of how Harry had stood up alone in her class, in that school where so many people already thought he was crazy, and spoken the word “Voldemort,” which even most adults did not dare to breathe, loudly to her face. And Lupin realized that besides his physical courage and the courage to face his worst fears, Harry had a kind of courage that Lupin had never had: the courage to openly defy social pressure. And Lupin’s admiration for Harry increased still more.

Then came the day when Harry took such pains to seek them out to discuss the miserable memory that Severus had meant to hide from him in the Pensieve. It had not been a happy memory for Lupin either, and it sometimes appeared strangely in his dreams. For his shame at the excess of his friends’ cruelty to Severus, and of his own fear of getting involved, even though it had been his duty as a prefect, had marred what should have been one of the proudest days of his life: the day he passed his O.W.L.s, possibly the first werewolf ever to do so. Added to that had been his disgust at hearing Severus reject Lily, who had stood by him for five years, because she was a Muggle-born witch. Lupin could not understand that a boy of any creed or in any frame of mind could throw away such attention, for when it came to girls, Remus Lupin the teenager, though not unhandsome, was completely out of the loop. And from such a one as Lily…

But oh Harry, he thought. Harry was more justified in hating Severus than his father had ever been, yet he had been so appalled by their behavior that he had apparently been desperate to seek out Sirius for some explanation. And Lupin realized that not only was the boy incredibly courageous, but very sensitive as well. But Harry had never taken Occlumency seriously enough, and seemed to be relieved to be let off the hook, which could be a disaster. But it was Severus who had cancelled the lessons because Harry had seen the memory. Would that man _never_ grow up? Must he always _insist_ on getting Harry so wrong?

***

Harry’s lack of Occlumency soon led to a whirlwind of events that included the death of Sirius, the near-death of Harry and five of his friends, the Ministry’s admission that Voldemort was back, the sacking of Minister Fudge, and the restoration of Dumbledore to his rightful place as headmaster of Hogwarts. The Order would no longer have to be fighting a war on two fronts, and Dumbledore would be freer to lead their effort. But the loss of Sirius fell like a lead weight on Lupin.

Yet Lupin had been one of the adults who had answered the call to rescue the kids from the Ministry, and he knew that Sirius need not have come walking into the seat of the government from which he was the most wanted fugitive in the world. And Lupin had been in the battle of the Department of Mysteries, and he had seen Bellatrix aim at Sirius and miss, and heard him taunt her, with the familiarity of a cousin, “Come on, you can do better than that!” And he was convinced that his old friend had been a madman to the last.

Lupin and Tonks understood each other, for they had both loved Sirius, and were both quiet about their grief. After his death they often enjoyed each other’s company without talking much.

***

He sat in a chair in the sitting room. It was a sultry summer day. Tonks was there. Sirius was gone. _Sirius was gone…Sirius was his friend…he is drop dead gorgeous, and James is the school Quidditch star, and they are at the top of their class in everything…he is just a werewolf, but they are his friends…out of the corner of his eye he sees Severus on the ground, sees them standing over him, pointing their wands imperiously…he does not want to see…he hears the hexes: Scourgify and Severus choking, Levicorpus and people applauding…he does not want to hear…he has sold his authority as a prefect so he could exchange solitary nights of suffering for magical ramblings with his friends…gambling with his parents’ sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks…he cannot say the words he should have said: Gryffindors do not fight two on one, or attack people who are already down._

 _Gryffindors do not fight two on one_ he sees himself and Sirius roll up their sleeves and throw Peter to the floor of the Shrieking Shack _or attack people who are already down_ he sees himself and Sirius standing over Peter, raising their wands in unison to cast the most Unforgivable Curse… _but Peter destroyed his friends and all the happiness of his youth …Severus has not done it yet…you wait, you wait until I’m a Death Eater…what has he ever done to Severus…it’s more the fact that he exists, and he is a werewolf…being a werewolf, he has done it many times…but not to Harry, no, not to Harry…someone is shaking him…_

It is Tonks. He is so relieved to see her face that he wants to look at it forever. She looks concerned.

“You just dozed off, Remus, but you seemed to be having a nightmare.”

“Where’s Harry?” he asked absently, almost as if they were a married couple and Harry was their son.

“He’s with his uncle and aunt. We’ll see him again soon,” she said almost consolingly.

“When we see him, would you remind me to apologize for what I said to him, and to thank him for my soul?”

She was concerned again. She thought his adulation of Harry had become excessive, and it might be just as well if Harry didn’t know about it. Then he did the last thing she was expecting. He winked at her.

“Don’t ever change the shape of your face again, because I like it the way it is.”

Surely this time, she thought, and put an arm around his neck and leaned in to kiss him, but he gently, almost apologetically, removed it and pushed her away. But she felt some response and saw something in his eye that made her think that Sirius had probably been right. It had always been self-control.

 _Don’t give up, Tonks_ , came a voice from beyond the veil.

Such a man this was.

***

Then one fine evening Dumbledore showed up at headquarters and asked to speak to Lupin in private. They went into the empty sitting room, and Dumbledore indicated a couch and sat down on a chair opposite.

“Good evening, Remus,” he said pleasantly. “It is too long since I have had the pleasure of your company. Would you care for a glass of wine?”

Lupin did not see any wine. “No thank you, Professor Dumbledore.” He knew he had to speak before he lost his nerve.

“Professor Dumbledore, I know you have come here to ask something of me. But I also wish to ask something of you, if you are willing to hear it. If so, would you prefer that I speak first, or wait?”

Dumbledore looked surprised. “By all means, speak first, Remus. I am most interested to hear it.”

“When I had the privilege of teaching at your school,” Lupin began, “I also had the privilege of working alongside a very able Potions master, who knew how to make a potion that I have not been able to obtain anywhere else. I know this man has a great dislike for me, and did not want me at your school, but in spite of this he faithfully made the potion for me, in order to protect others. I still want to protect others, and now that I am in the Order of the Phoenix, and am living and working alongside friends, I think that it would benefit you all if I were safer and were able to live a more normal life. I wondered whether there was any way it could be arranged, with your support and the support of the other members, for Professor Snape to make the potion for me again. Surely he knows that what we are doing now is more important than what my friends did to him at school? Is he not yet sated with revenge on me?”

“I think you should know the truth, Remus. Severus didn’t try to block your appointment or to get you sacked simply because he wanted revenge for what your friends did to him at school. He thought you might be dangerous, even though we had the potion. He thought that you had deliberately risked his life, and perhaps the lives of others, when you were both students. We all thought that Sirius was very dangerous, and he thought you might still be Sirius’s friend, and that you might be helping him.”

“Very clever of him,” said Lupin. “Had he forgotten that I was also James’s friend? Did he try to block his own appointment because he had risked the lives of others by becoming a Death Eater? Much as it may have disappointed him, didn’t he find out that Sirius was innocent?”

“I know he was very biased against you, and obviously I did not agree with him,” said Dumbledore, “but the events of that year did little to change his view. There is a certain map that shows the location of everyone in and around the castle. I don’t doubt that it is in good hands. But Severus was very angry that you confiscated it from him and lied to him about what it was. Even now that he knows the truth about Sirius, he also knows that you knew how Sirius entered the castle. He still thinks you were being careless with Harry’s life.”

Lupin felt a chill. Had he been careless with Harry’s life, or had he given Harry two years with Sirius, or both? This doubt had lurked not far beneath the surface during the summer of his depression. But he knew that Severus had no love for Harry. Was Dumbledore speaking for Severus, or for himself? All Severus had wanted then was revenge on Sirius.

“If Sirius had been caught sooner, he would have been thrown straight to the dementors, and no one would have heard the truth,” said Lupin. “Severus tried his best to make sure that happened as it was.”

“I would have given Sirius a hearing. Severus works for me, not for the Ministry. He couldn’t stop me from hearing the truth.”

“You can’t control what the Ministry does, even at your own school. They couldn’t wait to execute Sirius right under your nose, without listening to you. They did the same with Barty Crouch, Jr.”

Dumbledore looked at Lupin sharply.

“Did you believe all along that Sirius was innocent?”

Lupin did not meet his eye. “I didn’t know what to believe, except that the Sirius I knew had a soul, and he loved James Potter to the depths of that soul, and if he really did what they said he did, then he must already have been kissed by a dementor, and I didn’t see the point of repeating the exercise.”

There was a trace of a smile on Dumbledore’s face, but sadness in his eyes.

“I would have given _you_ a hearing, Remus, if you had not chosen to keep secrets from me. I would not have dismissed you because of what you did as a teenager. If you had told me about your animal friends before the term started, we would have been in a better position to corroborate Sirius’s story. If you had shared your map with me as soon as possible, I would have seen Mr. Pettigrew on it sooner and realized things were not as they seemed. I could have caught Sirius myself and kept him hidden as a dog until we had a chance to verify his story. I could have borrowed Mr. Weasley’s rat from him before he knew that I suspected his true identity, and tested returning him to his human form. We would have had evidence that the Ministry could hardly have ignored. Though I must admit that your friend’s behavior made it nearly impossible for anyone to save him.”

Lupin was ashamed. If Dumbledore was right, which he usually was, he could no longer evade responsibility for his own cowardly behavior by comforting himself with the idea that it had saved Sirius’s life. But did Dumbledore know that he had been quiet out of shame over having betrayed his trust in the first place? Lupin felt that he had failed Dumbledore as a student, as a prefect, and as a teacher. Dumbledore must know by now that he had never been worthy of his trust.

“I could not have you remain at the school, but I meant to indicate that our relationship was not over, and to give you the means to get back on your feet. But Severus felt it was beyond the call of duty for him to make the potion for you after you left, and strictly speaking, he was right. He could not make it for all the werewolves, and he didn’t know that you were more to be trusted than another werewolf. He thought that if you were on your own, there would be no one there to make sure that you took it.”

 _Why didn’t he just poison me_ , thought Lupin, who was now utterly humiliated. _Probably because he dislikes me too much to do me such a favor_.

But those blue eyes were penetrating him again, and their expression was kind.

“Severus does not understand your heart any better than you understand his, Remus.”

Lupin was emboldened to speak again.

“Does it make a difference that we are now comrades in the Order, risking our lives on the same side in a war? Doesn’t he know that it will benefit us all if I am not a threat to others? If he thinks I’m irresponsible, doesn’t he know that I have friends who are watching me now?”

Dumbledore looked troubled.

“Remus, Severus was not lying when he said he cannot do it now.” So Severus must have told Dumbledore about Tonks’s request. “Some of the ingredients need to be gathered fresh from places we no longer have access to. Severus is an undercover agent as well as a Potions master. Unfortunately, we are not the only ones who have concerned ourselves in this matter.”

Lupin was startled. He didn’t know anyone had concerned themselves in the matter, besides Tonks. Again he was not sure for whom Dumbledore was speaking. But he knew he had given it his best shot, and obtained a certain answer, and he suspected he knew what was coming next.

Dumbledore seemed to ponder for a moment before speaking again. “Remus, I know your life has been very difficult. It is greatly to your credit that you still want to obtain the means to avoid harming others. It is also to your credit that you have joined us again. I believe there is an area where you above all others can make a difference to our effort.

“As you know too well, we wizards have often not done a good job of reaching out to those who are different from us. The werewolves expect little from us, and they are susceptible to manipulation by people who, in the long run, mean them even more harm. I do not believe they are committed in the current conflict, but some of them are helping Voldemort. I think it may not be too late to influence them.

“Since you yourself are a werewolf, you may be able to gain their trust. You know very well what kind of treatment really awaits them if Voldemort wins. They are not likely to listen to arguments of this from ordinary wizards. They have little trust of any of us, and tend to follow what they see as their short-term advantage. The Death Eaters are luring them with access to prey. But they might listen to one of their own, whom they see as sharing their interests.”

“I don’t think other werewolves regard me as one of their own, or as sharing their interests,” said Lupin. “I have shunned them for almost fifteen years, because in my human state, at least, I never came to terms with the hunting of humans. They found that out in my youth, and they took it as a judgment on themselves. They no doubt think I am a snob, because I have always tried to live only in the human world, and not in theirs. I don’t imagine that they will accept me or trust me at all, after all these years.”

“I think you may be surprised, Remus,” said Dumbledore. “Whatever you have tried to do, they know you cannot change the fact that you are a werewolf, and that you have suffered the same kind of discrimination and rejection that they do, except among themselves. If you go back to them, they will see that you are no longer rejecting them, and they will think it is natural that you should seek them out, for all werewolves have some shared experience. If they believe you have come back to them, they will not reject you.”

“If they are to believe I have come back to them, I must not be seen as an emissary from you or other non-werewolves. I will have to at least appear to sever my ties with my current friends, and I will have to live among them and do as they do. Their hangout is a large underground drinking hole off Knockturn Alley. This is the center of their social life. I will have to take lodgings near there. If I argue to them that they should side with us, they may not know I am an agent from the Order, but the Death Eaters will know, for they know who I am, and we know of at least one werewolf who is a Death Eater.

“I will be alone, and there is no policing of that area. I can enchant my own lodgings, but the Death Eaters could pick me off like a fly in Knockturn Alley. You know I do not avoid danger, if there is a reason for it. I have risked my life many times for our cause, and you know I will do so again. But I don’t think it will benefit our cause for you to send me on a suicide mission.”

“You are used to watching your back, Remus, and we will discreetly be watching it too. Voldemort’s cronies may surprise you too, for they cannot believe that we have ever really accepted you as an equal, and they may also think that you are really returning to your own kind. Often prejudiced people believe that more tolerant people are secretly just as prejudiced as they are, only pretend not to be. It isn’t as dangerous as what I ask Severus to do.”

Lupin reflected that that was probably true, for Severus worked as a spy surrounded by Death Eaters right under Voldemort’s nose, pitting nothing but his famous Occlumency against Voldemort’s famous Legilimency.

“I’m afraid that is not the greatest danger, Professor Dumbledore,” said Lupin. He hesitated for a moment. “You see, as you said, I am a werewolf, and it is a condition I cannot change. And indeed I have usually faced the kind of rejection from the mainstream Wizarding World that other werewolves face. I can’t help wanting to be accepted, and if they do accept me, I may indeed slip into their world. Other werewolves have come to terms with what they are, and most of them do not try to protect others from them. I cannot really blame them, for I have suffered all my life from despising what I am.

“I now Apparate to the most remote and uninhabited part of Scotland before my transformations. Many werewolves do not know how to Apparate. The forests where they transform are not so far from here. They still know each other in their other state. If I disappear every month before the rise of the moon, they will know that I still reject their ways, and they will know I am still not one of them, and I will not gain their confidence. Either my mission will be hopeless, or I will become a certain danger to others again. I may be lost.”

“Even so,” said Dumbledore, “there are people in the north of Scotland, and you cannot be sure you encounter no one there. And here there are many werewolves. Surely the depredations of one more will add relatively little to the total?”

Lupin was shocked. This did not sound to him like Dumbledore. He no longer felt like a schoolboy. He turned and looked Dumbledore straight in the face.

“I know what is at stake in this war, and I joined this army to serve, not to be protected. Yes, I am used to watching my back, and will gladly put it wherever it is needed. But is it worth sacrificing one innocent life, perhaps many, to an uncertain chance of serving the greater good?”

Lupin thought that Dumbledore looked for a moment like an expert duelist who had been unable to parry a hex. He pressed his advantage.

“And my soul, Dumbledore? Or do you think I have none left?”

There was a pause, and then Dumbledore spoke very seriously.

“I do not fear for your soul, Remus, because I know you better than that. The man who has spoken the words that you have tonight will never become what you say that you fear becoming. As to things that you cannot control, they never have been and never will be held to your account.

“You are very perceptive, Remus. If you go among them and sense that they will listen to you at all, please try to reason with them. If you realize that it is too late, or that you cannot influence their view of what is happening, please observe them for as long as you can and report to me what you find out. When you need to come back, come back. We do not want to lose you.”

To Lupin’s amazement, the blue eyes twinkled as of old.

“I have complete confidence in you.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.” But although he appreciated Dumbledore’s kind words, Lupin left the room with a heavy heart, for he still thought that the confidence was misplaced.


	5. Lupin Among the Werewolves

He had not been to Knockturn Alley in over ten years. At that time, in the aftermath of the First War, those who were suspected of being Death Eaters or who had recanted were trying to unload their incriminating Dark Magic items on the stores there, practically giving them away. But the stores never completely lost their market. There was always a market for illegal potions and for items useful for petty criminals. It was a good place to unload stolen or smuggled merchandise, since most of the merchants did not inquire much where their merchandise came from. This made it a useful place for people such as werewolves, who were unable to make a living in the aboveground economy. Some werewolves used to try to sell things on the street in Diagon Alley, including things they had made themselves, but the store owners succeeded an having them removed, for they were considered a blight.

It was evening now as he walked down the darkening street, for he was heading for the Den, the evening hangout of the werewolves and the center of their social life. He noticed that there were more dangerous items in the storefronts now, not surprisingly, since Dark Magic was on the rise. He observed a black cat walking along on the other side of the street, apparently following a large black spider, which it pounced on. He passed a potions shop that he knew sold a slow-acting poisonous potion that people would drink because it made them feel euphoric; not much different from firewhiskey, he thought grimly. He reached a small dirt path between two dingy storefronts that no one who wasn’t looking for it would ever notice. He turned into it and walked toward the brick building behind the store.

It was a cellar entrance, with a flight of concrete steps down from the ground along the side of the building leading to a battered oak door with a wrought-iron knocker. Lupin knocked, and a dark-haired man with a pale, pointed face and dark circles under his eyes poked his head out the door. “I’m a werewolf,” said Lupin. To his surprise, the man nodded and let him in.

The scene was as he remembered it. The proprietor was behind a bar, and the other werewolves were mostly sitting around small tables with their whiskey glasses, playing an assortment of wizarding and Muggle games, most of them gambling. A few Muggles who had been bitten and become werewolves were among them. As he remembered, there was a complete absence of women.

“Well, if it isn’t Remus Lupin,” said a werewolf as he walked in, in a tone that was half-mocking, half-friendly. Lupin was surprised that anyone there even remembered his name.

“That’s _Mister_ Lupin to you,” said another one. “He’s an upstanding member of wizarding society.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Make that _Professor_ Lupin,” said a slightly older-looking one who had his feet up on a chair. “He had a teaching post at Hogwarts a few years ago.” Many of them laughed, thinking this was a joke. This was the sort of thing Lupin had been expecting.

“It’s true, isn’t it, Lupin? Did you manage to keep it a secret for a whole _year_ that you’re a werewolf?”

“Everyone thinks the position is cursed, so they’re desperate to fill it,” said Lupin. He wondered whether it was too soon to put in a good word for Dumbledore. “But Dumbledore is the headmaster of Hogwarts, and he does not discriminate against werewolves. He arranged for me to attend school there when I was already a werewolf, for I was bitten as a small child. And he hired me knowing that I was a werewolf.”

“Then why did he let you go?”

“Because everyone else found out, and the parents wouldn’t have stood for it. The staff had a potion to make my transformations harmless, and once at the end of the year I forgot to take it.”

“What potion was this?” said another one of them suspiciously.

“The Wolfsbane Potion. It—”

“ _Wolfsbane_ Potion? Lupin, don’t you know that wolfsbane is poisonous to werewolves? Don’t you know they were trying to poison you?”

“No, it was a complicated potion. There must have been things in it that counteracted that. It made me transform, when the time came, into a harmless wolf without the dementia.”

Some of the werewolves scowled, and he realized he had made a social blunder. “We’re not demented, Lupin,” said the same werewolf in a hostile tone. But the older one had sat up and was looking at him with something more like pity.

“Lupin, they must have been poisoning you slowly, so it wouldn’t be so obvious. They were just using you to fill the post until they could get someone else. No non-werewolf really wants a werewolf to live, let alone teach at his school.”

“Dumbledore does.”

“And did he entreat you to stay?”

“No,” said Lupin wearily.

“Remus Lupin,” said another werewolf, “have you finally remembered us? Have you finally remembered who you are? Decided to stop torturing yourself?”

The older one spoke again. “Can you spend your whole life begging favors from people who despise you? Haven’t you been sacked from every job you ever had when they found out?”

Lupin was surprised that they would remember, if they had ever known. “How did you know that?”

“We keep an eye out for our own,” he said, winking.

Lupin was amazed. Dumbledore had been right. He had already been called one of them. He might as well try to influence them. But he would have to play it carefully.

“Not all wizards are the same,” said Lupin. “There are some who want to change the way werewolves are treated. Those ones are fighting Voldemort, not following him. Voldemort and his Death Eaters are only using us, and if they win they will kill us all.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve lived in wizarding society, and I have seen the witches and wizards on both sides of this conflict. The Death Eaters throw scraps to other beings, but they despise everyone but themselves, and when they have power they will turn on us. They want to stamp out everyone whose blood they call impure. It’s only the ones fighting them who want to improve our lives.”

“Oh, they want to _improve our lives_ , do they? Well go and tell them that we werewolves have a good time.”

“A good time?” said Lupin. “Could it be that you’re making the best of a bad situation? Don’t werewolves live the way we do because we’ve been shut out? Would you not prefer a job with decent pay? Don’t you ever miss”—curiosity got the better of him—“don’t you miss the company of women?”

“Oh, we like women,” said a werewolf with a greedy look that Lupin understood, and he could not hide his disgust. This was not lost on the other werewolves.

“Do you eat meat, Lupin?” said one of them sharply, as if reading his thoughts.

“Yes,” said Lupin nervously.

“Hypocrite!” said another.

“Do you _enjoy_ your meat, Lupin?” said the first.

“Yes.” What was the point of lying? He obviously wouldn’t eat it if he didn’t enjoy it.

“Do you think of the life of the animal it came from? Of its family? Do you think it was slaughtered kindly? Do most normal humans think about that?”

This gave Lupin a moment’s pause. Some humans thought about that, but most did not.

“Why then do they look down on us?” the werewolf persisted. Did he really want an answer?

“Humans want to protect their families and friends. Most animals do not hunt and eat their own kind.”

“And since when have other humans considered us their own kind?” said the werewolf bitterly.

“Lupin,” said the older werewolf, “we only hunt humans when we are transformed, and they are not our own kind then.”

“Except that maniac Greyback,” said another, and a few of them rolled their eyes.

Lupin was both appalled to hear that Greyback was hunting people when not transformed, and relieved that he did not seem to be popular with the other werewolves.

“Lupin,” the older werewolf continued, “we are in our human form the vast majority of the time, yet other humans think of us as what we are when we’re transformed. Do they ever stop to consider that when they capture and kill a werewolf, they are killing a human being? What do we owe them?”

Lupin was confused already, because really what the man said was right. No, it wasn’t. What about his friends in the Order? What about Hermione and Tonks and…Gillyfeld? These werewolves didn’t know such people existed. “Not all normal witches and wizards are like that,” he said. “There are some who do realize that we are human beings, and want to change the way we are treated.”

“Where are they?”

“Here and there. I’ve met them. They are the ones fighting Voldemort.”

“But they never gave you a job for long, did they? And did your lady friends ever stay with you, knowing what you are?”

“There is one who says she wants to stay with me.”

The other werewolves laughed. “Where is she then?” said one. “Why don’t you bring her along?”

At this point Lupin could not help asking another question that he had always held back. With other werewolves, he found he was unable to play it carefully. “Why are there no female werewolves? Don’t women or girls ever get bitten and survive?”

The other werewolves looked at each other nervously. “We know nothing of that, Lupin,” said one.

“There are no female werewolves, Lupin,” said the older one. “It is best not to inquire.”

Lupin was puzzled. What could werewolves be afraid to talk about, even amongst themselves, when they admitted they enjoyed eating women?

“Women want nothing with us,” said one of the others. “Why shouldn’t we eat them?”

Lupin’s disgust had become mingled with fear and confusion. They were both animal appetites, weren’t they? Was it wrong only to eat meat, if they were not his own kind then? But he had always wanted love relationships—but couldn’t have them, because he had always been misunderstood, because he was the same as them. No, he wasn’t; he was a human being. He had always been gentle and kind to women, even to animals—except for eating them. They were human beings too. Whose logic was faulty, his or theirs? He tried to remember his friends in the Order…he realized he was concentrating as if to make a Patronus, but he could not make a Patronus here, he would be thrown out, and it would not change him or them, these were werewolves, not dementors, they were not evil like dementors… somehow he was afraid he would endanger her even by thinking about her…

The older werewolf could see his mental anguish, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Stop torturing yourself, Lupin. People who are no better than you have made you despise what you are.”

A hand put a glass on the table next to him and filled it with firewhiskey. He drained it and the heat shot through him, and so did the numbing of pain.

Could it be true? He had always despised himself, not only for being a werewolf, but because in his insecurity he had always had a tendency to duck responsibility. And were those other wizards any better? They didn’t take any responsibility for werewolves, those afflicted members of their own kind, and then they blamed werewolves for attacking them, as if they could help it. Did they think about what it meant when they bought their meat all nicely cut up and packaged in Diagon Alley, cooked it and ate it in comfort, laughing at the table with their friends? They didn’t have to slaughter it themselves, or consider whether it came from an animal that was or had a mother. None of them (except one, he could still remember) had thought about the army of house-elf slaves who served them feasts every day at Hogwarts, where they themselves took their place for granted. For Lupin it had been an unheard-of privilege to be allowed to go there, and he had paid a high price in shame for having violated the painful conditions under which this had been arranged. People no better than he had indeed made him despise what he was. They had never wanted to face the facts any more than he had.

“Do you have any money, Lupin?”

“A little,” he said. “Why?”

“We like to gamble at cards, but we can play for low stakes, if you haven’t got much.” The werewolf was shuffling a pack of cards.

“Deal me in,” said Lupin, and there was a glint in his eye, for he saw that they were magical cards, and that as a skilled wizard he would have an advantage.

Magical cards had several features in them that made Muggle-style cheating difficult. The backs could not be marked, because the backs were always changing. If anyone who shouldn’t tried to look at the cards in another player’s hand, they would go blank. They also had some features that could confuse any inexperienced player.

The queens and the jacks tended to wink at the players if they wanted to be played. Sometimes they did this when it was really best for the player to play them, but sometimes they did it just because they wanted attention, and for some players it took an effort of self-control neither to play them nor to wink back. The kings liked to fight with each other and sometimes a king would pull a sword from behind his head or an ax from his side and go out of his frame to that of another king, and the player would be unable to play him until he came back. The jokers were wild and there was no telling what they might do.

Lupin knew how to hold the pattern on the back of a card steady so that he could follow it, and since the cards changed their patterns at different rates, this usually escaped observation. He could also conjure a card up his sleeve, but for this he needed to use his wand. He was very good at the surreptitious use of his wand, which he also used to empty his glass, because he knew that firewhiskey was dangerous for him and he wanted to keep his wits about him.

He was careful not to win much from the other werewolves, because he did not want to antagonize them. He would only cheat if it was necessary to avoid big losses, which he did not have the means to pay. He rather enjoyed the game and the evening was passing more pleasantly than he expected, when he glanced into the opposite corner and saw something that made him shudder. Fenrir Greyback had come in and taken a place at another table.

Lupin in his waking state could hardly remember Greyback’s appearance on the terrible night he was bitten, but the trauma had marked him forever, and some resemblance between Greyback the wolf and Greyback the human struck a chord in him. He quickly took in Greyback’s pointed brown teeth and long scaly fingernails and detected the smell of blood on him, and could indeed believe that Greyback was attacking people when he was not transformed.

“Hey Lupin,” said another werewolf jocularly, “show us something you learned at Hogwarts!”

Lupin obliged the man by Disapparating.

***

That human Lupin had changed his mind again, and brought Lupin back to the southern forests that were the usual haunt of the werewolves. He quickly perceived that something evil was afoot in the Wizarding World that was affecting other beings, including the werewolves, and threatened to engulf them all. A pack of wizards whom the other werewolves called “Death Eaters” were growing in numbers and gaining in power, and not only were they humans, they were the worst sort of humans.

Lupin quickly saw that these humans had an excess of every quality he had ever detested about humans. They were power-hungry, arrogant and destructive. They sought total dominion over everyone and everything. They were a little like those non-magical humans who had once run roughshod over other humans, their places and the wild places, wielding weapons and killing foxes and deer just for fun. Only these were more dangerous, because they were wizards.

These wizards attacked non-magical people, Muggles, for no apparent reason. Lupin had always seen that humans had the unnatural practice of attacking and killing their own kind, but those fights were not usually this one-sided. Muggles could not defend themselves at all against wizards, and it could not be a natural instinct for wizards to attack Muggles, because other wizards had always stayed clear of them. Lupin sensed some deliberate planned purpose in their actions.

Worst of all, the Death Eaters were baiting the werewolves. They were driving Muggles into the forests where there were werewolves, apparently to terrorize them, and the other werewolves advised Lupin that easy prey was to be had toward the Muggle side of the forest. The other werewolves told Lupin that the Death Eaters made green lights appear in the sky in the shape of a human skull with a snake sticking out of the mouth, and if the werewolves followed in that direction, they would sometimes find a freshly killed human there, fresh enough to eat. Like vultures, thought Lupin disgustedly. One such sign had already appeared that night, and some of the werewolves had followed it.

They told him that Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf Lupin had always feared and hated, had become a Death Eater and joined them in his human form. Lupin feared other werewolves might do the same, and help the Death Eaters gain ascendancy. He feared that the other werewolves, in their human form, might support the Death Eaters because they would remember the prey they received as wolves, and that in their wolf form they might not attack the Death Eaters because they would remember their thoughts as humans. He feared the werewolves would become the hunting dogs of the Death Eaters.

When the werewolves gathered in the clearing late that night, they were interested to hear what Lupin had to tell them, because he had been gone for so long that they were curious about where he had been and about his adventures. But Lupin found himself doing something he would never have imagined himself doing: proselytizing.

“My friends,” said Lupin, “something evil is afoot amongst us, and I see disaster looming for the werewolves. Humans with evil intentions are feeding us bait, and I fear all too many werewolves are taking it. These are not only humans, but powerful wizards, and they mean to enslave us, for when have humans thrown easy prey or feed to animals except to manipulate them for some purpose of their own? Isn’t this how the wolves were made into dogs? Isn’t this how the boars were made into hogs? Isn’t this how the sheep were enslaved, how the horses and the cattle were enslaved?”

A few of the werewolves groaned.

“Shall we no longer hunt for ourselves? Are we dogs? Are we vultures? Are we not werewolves?”

“Lupin, werewolves cannot be domesticated like other animals. Even wizards cannot control us in our wolf state. If they try to keep us near them, we will attack them too.”

“They can do anything to us in our human state, and that is our usual state. Are the werewolves now supporting them in our human state, and helping their rise to power, because of this favor?” Lupin realized he was at a disadvantage, because they remembered something of their human state, and he did not.

“We do not take sides in wizarding wars or any other human wars, Lupin,” said an older werewolf. “All other humans hate werewolves. We get our prey wherever we can find it. They are no more using us than we are using them.”

“They are more powerful than we are,” said Lupin. “They seek total power. If they will kill their own kind, will they not turn on us and kill us when they are through using us for their purpose?”

“Why should they kill us, any more than the other wizards did? They all hate us. These ones seem to hate us less than the others,” said another werewolf.

“The others would not kill us in our human form, or we would all be dead,” said Lupin. “These wizards despise everyone but themselves, and will kill anyone they want. If they help us multiply, we will become a threat to them, and they will kill us.”

“How do you know? If they threaten us, we can all attack them at the full moon.”

“All the more reason for them to kill us in our human form. They will not warn us,” said Lupin. “The time to change course is now, before it is too late.”

“Lupin, we werewolves live for the present. We do not care about the outcome of this war, or any other war.” The werewolves were dispersing and returning to the hunt, for in these times they might find humans abroad at any time of night.

Lupin was discouraged, but left the clearing to sniff out the trails of humans himself. He hoped to find Death Eaters, not only because he hated them, but also because if they thought the werewolves had stopped hunting unassisted, he would have the advantage of surprise.

***

After the first evening, Lupin never challenged the other werewolves about their hunting, biting or eating of humans, though he usually avoided the subject. Since he was modest and affable, he got on well enough. Sometimes, on request, he would entertain the others with modest displays of magic they did not know, or amusing tales from the Muggle or Wizarding Worlds. The other wizard werewolves knew that he sometimes cheated at cards, but since they cheated to win, whereas Lupin cheated only to break even, they maintained a conspiracy of silence with him, and only argued with each other.

There was one subject, however, on which Lupin maintained his integrity and never wavered, and on which he would argue forcefully if it ever came up. He always insisted that Voldemort was unspeakably evil, that he and his followers meant to destroy everyone whose blood they considered impure, and that it was suicidal folly for the werewolves to help or support them in any way.

After that first evening, he managed to keep his seat if Greyback appeared, which he did less often than the other werewolves, since he was sometimes off on Death Eater business. He soon realized that Greyback would not attack him in that place, for werewolves did not like to fight amongst themselves, and the proprietor would have thrown him out. This was a relief to Lupin, because at first he thought that he might have to defend himself with the use of magic that might make him threatening to the other werewolves. He came to suspect that Greyback would never attack him except among a pack of Death Eaters, because Greyback was no match for him as a wizard, and like most bullies, he was not particularly brave.

Lupin knew that, directly or indirectly, Greyback would hear every word he said about Voldemort and report it straight to the Death Eaters. This was no more than Lupin had signed up for. It was some compensation that he had the treat of hearing what Greyback had to say as well.

Lupin saw that having what he imagined to be the patronage of powerful wizards had given Greyback a sort of swagger that Lupin suspected did not much impress the other werewolves. Lupin had seen such people in the Muggle world, lower-class people who identified with their superiors and expected to rise because their superiors, who despised them, manipulated them with that illusion. He could imagine how Voldemort’s inner circle must laugh at Greyback behind his back, how they must consider him a filthy scavenger to be used and then killed when the war was over, and how their derision was probably all the greater because of the enthusiasm with which Greyback did their bidding.

For Lupin could remember the Slytherin kids, many of them the children of past and future Death Eaters, jeering at him and calling him “monster” just before he left Hogwarts. Mrs. Black, if she stooped to notice him, would scream the same thing. He remembered always getting looks of loathing from those pure-blood witches and wizards who looked down on witches and wizards of Muggle descent, the ones whose cause Voldemort championed. Most of all, he remembered how late during the First War, Voldemort had tried to gain support among the insecure by promising that if he won, he would eradicate the werewolves as a security measure.

Lupin heard Greyback boast of the money and easy prey he obtained by being a Death Eater, and heard him urge the other werewolves to join them. He heard Greyback say that they were sure to win, and that his service would assure him a good place in the new society. But when he heard Greyback say that he expected soon to have the Dark Mark and be summoned to meetings with Lord Voldemort, Lupin almost laughed out loud. He began to think that not only was Greyback not very brave, but that he was the biggest fool Lupin had ever seen in his life. And though his loathing of the man never abated, his terror melted into fear, and his fear began to be overtaken by contempt.

But the other werewolves were no more impressed by Lupin’s arguments than they were by Greyback.

“We may be better off if Voldemort wins, because he means to end the Wizarding Statute of Secrecy. We won’t have to hide from Muggles any more, because the government won’t care whether they know we really exist.”

“Don’t you know it’s because of the Wizarding Statute of Secrecy that we have a place here at all, lowly as it is?” said Lupin. “The past governments have let us stay here because we are magical, and they don’t want the Muggles to know we exist. They have let us stay here to keep us out of the sight of Muggles. They would not slaughter us in our human form, when it would be easiest, because they do not want to be seen as mass murderers. Voldemort’s government will have no such constraint.”

“Why should Voldemort want to slaughter us any more than the current government? We may have more prey, and be able to go where we please.”

“For a while,” said Lupin. “They are just using us. As we multiply, we will become a bigger threat to them. We attack any humans when we are transformed, and we will attack them too. When they are through with us they will slaughter us. The Muggles are even more terrified of werewolves than wizards are. When they find out we exist, and that they can kill us in our human form, they will kill us too. Everyone will kill us.”

A few of the werewolves laughed. “Just so, Lupin. All normal humans hate werewolves. What do we care who wins this war? If they throw prey our way, why shouldn’t we take it? We werewolves live for the present.”

“These wizards are different,” Lupin insisted. “They despise everyone but themselves. They openly worship power and violence, and they want to clean out wizarding society of anyone they think is impure. Don’t you know that means us?” Lupin turned desperately to one of the older werewolves. “Don’t you remember that during the last war, Voldemort tried to gain support from insecure witches and wizards by saying he would eradicate the werewolves as a security measure?”

“Well, he’s being a bit cleverer this time, isn’t he?” said the werewolf.

“Yes, he is,” said Lupin bitterly.

“Come, come,” said Trackless, the older werewolf who had offered Lupin wisdom on his first evening there, “let’s settle this like werewolves!” He took a piece of paper, folded it lengthwise, and wrote:

DUMBLEDORE

on one side. Then he took a penknife from his pocket, made a slit in the crease, inserted the king of hearts, and stood the folded paper on the table. He took another piece of paper, folded it, and wrote:

VOLDEMORT

and similarly inserted the ace of spades. A Muggle werewolf brought over a pair of dice and a pile of poker chips.

“Lupin! You have to throw for Dumbledore!”

“Who will throw for Voldemort? Greyback! Where’s Greyback?”

_Oh no_ , thought Lupin. For though he had found he could live with Greyback in the room, he thought he would die if forced to socialize with him. Fortunately Greyback was not there, and another werewolf volunteered to throw for Voldemort. Much as Lupin disliked this game, he felt he must play along for a while. He threw the dice and two ones came up.

“Snake eyes for Dumbledore!” said someone merrily. “That’s doubles, Lupin, so you get to throw again.”

Lupin was not very superstitious, and yet somehow he felt that snake eyes for Dumbledore was not a good omen. But after a few rounds of the game, Dumbledore was winning, and Lupin thought it might be safe to call it off, for at least he would not look like a sore loser.

“This is boring,” he said, sweeping everything off the table, for he had had a few glasses of whiskey by this time. “Let’s have a game of skill!” He took out the cards again.

He still enjoyed the card games, but he had become tired of deceiving the other werewolves by using his wand to empty his glass. He had been drinking more of the whiskey, and he knew he still owed it to Dumbledore and to his mission to stay alive. He finally broke down and went to the bar and asked the proprietor whether he had butterbeer on tap.

The proprietor laughed and pulled a bottle from under the counter. “Hardly anyone here drinks it,” he said, “but I can order more if you like.”

“Yes, please do,” said Lupin. When he returned to the table with his bottle, the others seemed rather amused, but not contemptuous, as he had feared.

Lupin always stayed at the Den until the last of the others left, because when he went home he usually had nightmares. He knew only too well what the nightmares meant, and what he could accept in the company of the others he could not face alone. Since he kept their company, the other werewolves thought he liked them, and so they tolerated this eccentric werewolf who drank butterbeer, cheated to break even at cards, and was so passionate on the subject of Voldemort. But in or out of company he numbed himself with a continuous flow of butterbeer, and there was hardly a waking moment when he did not have one in his hand.

***

Someone passed a hat across the table. “ _Conjure_ us something, Lupin,” said a werewolf to the jeering laughter of the others. “Weren’t you educated at _Hogwarts_?”

He reached in and pulled out a bottle opener, but it didn’t work. It was a good thing he knew how to use the other one, for they were testing him. It was a good thing Dumbledore had given him six months’ severance pay, so he could lose it all in one night and prove that he lived for the moment like the rest of them. But at some point he couldn’t pretend any more, and he knew he had to find the one person who knew what he really was and still loved him.

He went out to look for Tonks, who was waiting for him outside. Relieved, he was about to embrace her, when he glanced up and saw the full moon, which struck terror in him like never before. “Run for it!” were his last human words, but it was too late, she could not run and Disapparate at the same time. As she turned, he opened his jaws to bite…

Lupin woke up drenched in sweat and shaking with terror. His alarm was too late. He reached for the bottle of whiskey that he found it necessary to keep at home just for emergencies, and only when he had drunk a few swallows did his trembling stop.

***

Dumbledore had not told them what Lupin’s mission was, but Tonks knew, and not only did she miss him, she was worried out of her mind about him. She knew only too well of his low self-esteem, his craving for acceptance, and his already heavy burden of guilt, and she was afraid that if he was among the werewolves, doing as they did, the internal conflict would literally make him mentally ill, or at least drive him to drink.

A trunk in one of the upstairs rooms hit her in the shin and she angrily kicked it. A worn-out wooden shelf came loose from the wall and crashed down, breaking over her head and spilling a pile of disintegrating ancient books and a few breakable objects onto the floor. “Confringo Dumbledore!” she said.

Fred Weasley, who was passing by in the hallway, poked his head in the door. “Rank insubordination!” he said approvingly, and he looked even more amused when he noticed the mess of broken objects on the floor, for he could not see how Dumbledore had been the cause of this.

“It’s a good thing you’re here,” said Tonks testily, “now that I don’t have Sirius to rib me any more.”

But soon no one ribbed Tonks, because it was clear that she had lost not only her good humor but also her appetite, and seemed to be wasting away. They thought she might be grieving for Sirius, because sometimes grief takes time to manifest, and even longer to resolve.

***

Some of the other werewolves had joined Lupin in the clearing.

“You’d better run for it, Lupin,” said one. “If you get a head start, he won’t catch you.”

“He means to kill you tonight,” said another. “He is coming here to kill you.”

“When is the last time he has fought one of us?” said Lupin. “He is a servant of humans now.”

“We know you’re crazy, but don’t be stupid, Lupin. He is bigger and stronger than you. He will kill you.”

“We’re not joking, Lupin. We will not defend you.”

“I know you will not defend me. I will face him alone.”

“He will kill you. If you run now, you can get away, because though he is bigger than you, you are faster.”

Lupin did not heed them, and eventually they cleared away, muttering that if Lupin wanted to die it was his own business.

Somehow Lupin knew, more certainly than he had ever known anything before, that he must face Greyback alone. He knew that if he ran away, the shame would follow him like a shadow for the rest of his life. Whether serving the Death Eaters and eating captives and children had made Greyback soft, he did not really know. The thing that mattered was that Lupin believed it.

When Greyback appeared in the clearing and saw his relatively little opponent standing there waiting for him, he laughed, for he had not expected it to be this easy.

“Remus Lupin,” he said contemptuously, “I tasted your blood once when you were a human child. I should have killed you then, because you have become a troublemaker. But now I will have the added pleasure of satisfying a long anticipation.”

“Fenrir Greyback,” said Lupin just as contemptuously, “since when does a dog fight with a wolf? Has your master let you off the leash tonight? Did they lose today, or did they just forget to feed you?”

Greyback snarled and bared his terrible fangs, but Lupin also bared his terrible fangs, and his fur was standing so much on end that he looked almost as big as Greyback. There was fire in his eyes, and Greyback saw that Lupin was not afraid of him. And Greyback was disconcerted to meet such ferocity in such an unexpected quarter.

In that moment of disconcertion, Lupin pounced and sank his teeth into Greyback’s throat. This might have killed a lesser animal, but the arteries of werewolves were protected by thick muscles, and Greyback with his greater strength threw Lupin off and onto his back.

This might have ended it for another animal, but Lupin was quick, and he rolled over and onto his feet before Greyback could pin him down. He sprang again and closed his jaws on Greyback’s nose, so Greyback could not bite. Greyback threw him off again, but was bleeding profusely. After a few rounds of this battle of strength versus speed, Greyback started to wonder whether it was worth it. He still did not doubt that he could kill Lupin, but perhaps it was not worth sustaining all these injuries, when the Death Eaters could pick Lupin off like a fly in Knockturn Alley. The other Death Eaters did not take Lupin seriously enough. He would have to convince them that it was time to act, because this Lupin was more dangerous than they thought.

Greyback walked away, and Lupin was too injured himself to try to follow him. Lupin had thought he would win, but had not expected it to be this easy. He sat down and rested, and a few werewolves who had stayed nearby out of curiosity came out of the woods and howled in approval, because they liked to occasionally see the underdog win a fight. But when he opened his mouth to explain to them why he had won, they suspected what was coming, looked at each other, and dispersed. And Lupin realized that although he had won the battle, he was losing the war.

***

Someone poured him a glass of firewhiskey and he downed it without thinking. There was a smell of raw game in the air, which had stimulated a long-suppressed appetite in him. For though he had eaten cooked meat for most of his life, he had not been among the werewolves long before he remembered how much better it smelled and tasted raw. They ate meat that had been caught in the wild, which he realized was less cruel than eating meat from animals that had been raised in captivity, because at least the animal had been able to live free before it was killed. They had treated him to a slab of venison in celebration of his recovery from some wounds he had suffered in his wolf state, he knew not how. They were almost healed, for the other werewolves had referred him to a werewolf healer.

“I tried to make an honest living in my youth, playing the flute,” said Trackless. Lupin believed it, for the man played the flute beautifully. “I wasn’t even in front of the stores. I had respectable gigs in inns and restaurants. I even went up to Hogsmeade and played at The Three Broomsticks.”

“How did they find you out?” said another werewolf.

“I forgot to say ‘You-Know-Who.’ ”

The others laughed, including Lupin, for the werewolves thought it was uproarious that ordinary witches and wizards were afraid to say Voldemort’s name.

“You tried several times, didn’t you, Lupin?”

“Yes, I did, much to the indignation of my employers.” The werewolves laughed.

“I once got a job with a rich wizarding family,” said another one. “They threw me out when they found out I knew how to slaughter and cut up a carcass. You see, when they weren’t home, I would go downstairs and help the overworked house-elf, and they caught me at it one day.”

Lupin’s face darkened.

“You’ll be happy to know, Lupin, that the master came to a bad end. He used to hunt werewolves for a thrilling sport. That was not wise.”

Lupin smiled. “Where do you get this meat?” he said. “It’s good.”

“Store on the corner of the alley. You have to watch it, though, because their stuff isn’t always what they say it is. Rumor has it that they’re selling Muggle meat now.”

Lupin gagged.

“We’re just teasing, Lupin. We know how to get your back up.”

But Lupin knew that it was only too likely. Murders of Muggles by Death Eaters had already begun, the stores in the alley were not inspected, and there were witches and wizards who would sell anything to make a Galleon, without asking where it came from. He knew perfectly well that what he was eating was deer meat, but also that if he took another bite he would vomit. He would never approach the Ministry, but Dumbledore should know about this.

“Where did you say this place is?” he said in what he hoped would sound like an offhand way, as if he wanted to shop there.

Trackless had been watching him sharply. “Tread lightly, Lupin,” he said. “We don’t want that place shut down. Werewolves have been known to kill a rat, you know.” But Lupin knew that it was not the werewolves who would kill him.

He managed to chat for a while, but since he was no longer hungry, he discreetly took his meat to the bar and asked the proprietor to hold it for him in the icebox until he was ready to leave. He could not afford to waste such a piece of meat.

He was now completely indifferent as to whether Greyback came or not. There was nothing Greyback could report about him to the Death Eaters that they did not already know. Greyback was no more powerful than he was, only uglier. He looked on his terror of Greyback as something remembered from the past.

No, it was never the physical threat from Greyback in the present he had feared most, or the memory of the pain of the bite. It may have been partly the suppressed memory of Greyback’s appearance that terrible night, which could never be repeated, because he had for the first and last time seen Greyback as a wolf when he was but a human child. But it occurred to him that perhaps he had feared Greyback most because Greyback had made him what he was: a werewolf.

Then he remembered his boggart. It had never been Greyback he had feared most. It had never even been Voldemort. It had always been himself. For a minute he saw, as if detached from his body and looking down at the scene, himself among the werewolves, drinking, playing games, and laughing other humans to scorn, indifferent to their fate as prey, unless the predators were Voldemort’s minions. And he was gripped by the cold fear he sometimes felt when he suddenly realized that he was or had been a deadly threat to others. He had not been with a woman in years. Had he started eating them? He had not looked in a mirror in months. Were his incisors getting sharper? He pushed himself away from the table with an ashen face.

“You alright there, Lupin?” said one.

“I’m not well—I think I better go home.”

“Does our talk of the hunt make you queasy again, _Professor_ Lupin?” said another one. The mocking tone was back. “Are you going to Diagon Alley for some steak and kidney pie?”

Lupin hastily said goodbye and walked out the door.

And then, the inevitable.

He was continuing down the alley and sensed someone had turned into it far behind him, but was approaching. Lupin turned fast, his wand always at the ready. He hit the man with a stunning spell just as the man aimed one at him, the red shaft of light missing him by a few inches, and the man collapsed. Surely it was an attack—but who had shot first? Then from behind him he heard _“Petrificus Totalus!”_ and he fell stiff and paralyzed onto his face as his wand, knocked from his hand, rolled to the gutter. Someone kicked him over and he saw two Death Eaters standing over him, their wands aimed at his chest. His face was bleeding.

“I don’t see any Ministry workers here, do you, Marcus?” Indeed, the dark street seemed empty and quiet.

“I don’t see Dumbledore,’’ said the other, and they both laughed. “Shall we?” he said.

“No,” said the first. “The Dark Lord wants us to save him for Greyback, as an example to the other werewolves.”

“But he is in his wolf form at the same time as Greyback.”

“Haven’t you heard? Greyback will eat a human captive now, even when he’s not transformed. Nagini doesn’t like it.” They laughed again.

_These Death Eaters have a terrific sense of humor_ , thought Lupin.

“He will relish this one. He will take his time, and savor every bite.”

“That might hurt. Shall we give him some practice? _Crucio!”_

Lupin suddenly felt excruciating pain tear throughout his nerves and into his muscles and bones, made worse by the fact that he could not move. Even he could not control the screams of pain that were reaching his mouth, but then it stopped as suddenly as it had started. The two Death Eaters themselves fell over, stunned from behind. McGonagall aimed a wand at Lupin and released him from the Petrificus hex. He stood up shakily and smiled in spite of himself.

“Not bad, Minerva. But how did you—?” Then suddenly he understood, for cats were a frequent sight in Knockturn Alley. But most were black. Wasn’t Minerva a tabby?

“Are you alright, Remus?” she said, putting his wand back into his hand.

“Never better,” he said, the irony in his tone barely perceptible.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more for you,” she said, and shrank into something small, furry and black. So she could change her color too.

“Have you been tailing me all this time, Minerva?”

The cat flicked its tail slightly and strolled to the other side of the street, where it walked along the gutter. Something else occurred to him. He only came here in the evenings, when McGonagall could take a break from her duties at the school. He felt warmth returning to his body. Perhaps Dumbledore was not neglecting him as much as he had thought. And he realized that she had transformed back so quickly so that if others came, they would have the advantage of surprise.

He kept her in sight until they reached Diagon Alley. “Minerva?” he said. But she had slipped out of sight. Would she be going to Twelve Grimmauld Place? No, she must be off to Hogwarts, for she lived at the school. He realized how exhausting this must be for her. He felt desperately like talking to someone from the Order. He could not face his lonely rooms again. Would anyone be at headquarters? He had avoided them for months, except for his weekly lack-of-progress reports to Dumbledore. He wanted to know, and wanted them to know, that he was still one of them. Would Tonks be there? She never thought he was a monster. Had he changed? Would she see him any differently now?

He arrived exhausted at the door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and tapped on it with his wand. The door opened and he staggered in, falling against a wall to keep standing, and setting off Mrs. Black.

“MONSTER! FILTH! CONTAMINATION! FILTHY BEAST, TRESPASSING IN THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS!"

“SHUT UP, YOU STUPID BITCH!” roared Lupin back, and he picked up the troll’s foot umbrella stand and smashed it into the painting. Mrs. Black let out a blood-curdling scream that reverberated through the empty house, and then became strangely quiet.

At least, he thought the house was empty, but a ghostly figure appeared in the hall. She was not sure whether to approach him, because she thought he was emotionally disturbed, and she was not sure whether her approach would calm him or set him off again.

“Tonks?” he said quietly. “What are you doing here?” Which was a silly question, since he had come there looking for her.

“This is the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. I am a member of the Order of the Phoenix. What are you doing here?”

“I am also a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Don’t you remember me?” And he smiled, not the smile of a madman, but a warm, natural one.

She was reassured, though she noticed his pallor and the blood on his face. And then they stepped forward and embraced, just like two good friends who were seeing each other for the first time after they had both been through a terrible ordeal. Which was, in fact, what they were. And this seemed so natural that it was hard to believe it had never happened before.

“But what are you doing all alone in this awful place?”

“I stay here whenever I can, in case you might need me and not know where else to find me.”

_So she cares about me that much_ , he thought.

She led him by the hand into the next room and helped him lie down on a couch there. She was relieved that he still did not withdraw from her touch. She quickly went upstairs and found some blankets and cloaks to throw over him, because she knew that a traumatized person needed to be kept warm. She had learned some emergency healing in her Auror training, and had some healing herbs stashed in the kitchen. She found the right one and brewed a tea with it, and poured it into a bowl to cool down a bit.

She pulled over a chair and sat near his face. She had seen that his nose was broken, and she mended it with her wand. She washed his face with the tea, which was soothing and not astringent, and she saw the cuts healing and the lines in his face already beginning to relax. She took off his shoes.

Lupin was exhausted beyond measure. Between his forced carousing and his nightmares, he had not had a good night’s sleep in months. But as he drifted off, he knew he would have no bad dreams on this night. From the depths of his wolf mind, a memory bubbled to the surface, but this time it was a pleasant one. He was wounded and someone was taking care of him, someone who had no reason to fear him…an animal, perhaps…

When he awoke in the morning he felt much better, though it seemed early. He sat up and noticed some sheets and blankets lying on the floor not far from the couch. It looked as if someone had slept there. It must have been Tonks. She must have slept there in case he needed her. _So she cares about me that much_ , he thought. He needed to find her before she left for work. He hoped she had not left yet.

He walked into the kitchen and she was there grabbing something to eat. When she saw him she smiled, for she was relieved at how much better he looked. She impulsively approached him, and he swept her into a passionate kiss.

“Does this mean you’ve changed your mind?” she said when she could catch her breath.

“Yes.”

She didn’t need to know why he had changed his mind, only that he had.

And then, between kisses, “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what? For changing your mind? For kissing me?”

“No. That I didn’t do it sooner.”

“Marry me?”

“Yes. Oh yes.”


	6. The Crossroads

On the day of their engagement, they decided that she would come to his place that evening, because he assured her that although his place was depressing, it was not as depressing as Twelve Grimmauld Place. At least, being much smaller and much less enchanted, it would be easier to fix.

Although Lupin was skilled at using magic in all kinds of dangerous situations, as well as using it to perform all kinds of sly tricks, he had less practice in using it for domestic chores, since for him to do this in the Muggle world would have raised suspicions. He knew such spells, but did not want to take any chance on messing something up, so partly from force of habit, he set out to clean his little rooms like a Muggle. He still had some Muggle clothes, and he tore up a shirt for rags and wiped down the counter and table in the kitchen, and the cabinets inside and out. He checked that no one was passing below and shook his blankets and mattress out at the window. He even used his Cleansweep broom to sweep the floor, something no normal wizard would have done, but he was not on any Quidditch team, and he did not see how it would impair the broom’s ability to fly. Given the uncertainty of a werewolf’s life, and the need to seize any happy moment, no normal wizard could rival a werewolf in love.

He went to Diagon Alley to shop for food. He passed by the butcher shop, having no wish to see or think any more about bloody carcasses, cut up or otherwise. He found a store where a witch was selling produce from the countryside, including dairy products. He picked up a basket at the door and filled it with milk, eggs, cheese, butter, carrots, greens, potatoes, a piece of fish, a bunch of roses, and some tea. But when he brought the things over to where the witch was sitting, he realized he did not have the money to pay for them, because he had been living hand-to-mouth, and had not thought to ask Tonks for any money. He put down a few knuts and asked if he could have the rest on credit, if he paid her tomorrow.

She looked affronted, because she had never seen Lupin before, and he did not look to her like someone worthy of credit. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said haughtily, “but I can’t give you credit unless you have an account at Gringotts.”

“But I do have an account at Gringotts!” he said, for he suddenly remembered that when he ran out of money two years earlier, he had thought it prudent to keep his account open, and had left a golden Galleon in it. And he found a scrap of parchment in his pocket and wrote his name and address and vault number on it, for he still remembered it.

She looked at it doubtfully. “Do you have any identification, Mr. Lupin?”

He took out his wand. “Do you see this wand?”

“Mr. Lupin—”

He pointed it at a champagne bottle on a shelf on the opposite wall. Out popped the cork, and the foam bubbled out of the bottle and ran down its sides. Then he flicked the wand, and the wine flowed back up into the bottle, and the cork popped back in.

“Mine is the only one that does that,” he said, and during her moment of confusion, he hastily gathered his groceries and slipped out the door.

When he got home he conjured a vase for the roses. They were red when he bought them, which was probably best, but he tried turning them pink, then white, then yellow. He decided that yellow after all was best, since it did most to brighten the room.

Toward evening there was a knock at the door. He opened it and she stepped in, knocking against the table, and the vase of roses fell over with a crash.

“ _Reparo!_ ” he said, pointing his wand, and leading her into the middle of the room, because the room was very small. She looked around and saw a teapot on the counter, and he drew her closer, away from that.

“You said it was depressing,” she said. “It’s small, but I don’t think it’s that depressing.”

“Well, I’ve been working all day on trying to make it into a home.”

“It would be a home to me, whatever it looked like,” she said as he put his arms around her, “because you’re here.”

“Thank you, Tonks. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

***

For one happy week they lived together, planning their future. They decided to get married sooner rather than later, because either of them might be killed at any moment, and they wanted to get married while they were both still alive. Lupin would go to Dumbledore and resign his mission. He had given it his best effort, and he could not influence the werewolves. Dumbledore had said he could come back when he needed to. He would hold Dumbledore to his word.

It only made sense to plan their future on the assumption that they would win the war, because if Voldemort won they were certainly both dead. Their biggest problem, of course, would be his transformations. He would probably have to tough it out the way he had been doing until the end of the war, but after that she would not hear of him Apparating to the highlands.

She could support them if necessary, since apart from higher-ups, Aurors were the best-paid workers at the Ministry, but they believed that Lupin would be able to earn some money too. They would buy the Wolfsbane Potion at any price when it became available, but they knew that would take some time in a war-damaged society, considering the difficulty of getting the ingredients, and the fact that there might be no one left who already knew how to make it.

She was still optimistic about the momentum for positive change that would follow the war, and what that would mean for the status of werewolves. Lupin was not optimistic at all, because the werewolves were seen to be siding with Voldemort, and he expected a backlash, especially since witches and wizards were seeing Greyback as the ugly face of the werewolves.

“Well, you’ll just have to show them your own pretty face,” said Tonks. “You’ll be a hero of the war.”

Until they could obtain the potion, they thought they could put their magical heads together to create another safe house like the Shrieking Shack, only they would make some effort to make it more comfortable, and would do a better job with muffling and silencing charms, because they thought people would not tolerate another such haunted house in Britain, unless perhaps they moved to the wildest part of the Scottish Highlands, which they had no intention of doing. Lupin agreed that one night of suffering would be more than compensated for by twenty-eight nights of healing, as well as the knowledge that he was not harming anyone.

There was only one subject on which they did not agree, and Lupin was afraid to tell her so. Whenever she started to talk of having children, he would not meet her eye and would try to change the subject. He thought it was unwise for him to have children, given his peculiar condition, but she wanted it so much that he was afraid she would leave him if he told her so. There would be time later, after they were married, for him to explain. If she wanted children, they could adopt.

They were sure that Dumbledore would be tickled pink by their engagement, but he was worried about Tonks’s parents. “Would you marry me without their consent? Won’t they be terrified for you?”

“I’ll explain everything to them. They know you’ve been with us for two years, and anyone in the Order will vouch for you. We’ll explain our plans to them. I think their reaction will surprise you. After all, they were a mixed couple.”

“Ha! That’s not the same at all, and you know it.”

“Well, it was enough to get my mother’s name burned out of the Black family tree, which she regretted about as much as Sirius did.”

“Your mother’s family was very special.”

“You don’t know the half. Those burn marks on the tapestry are just the tip of the iceberg. There were whole galaxies of Muggle-loving Blacks who disappeared under suspicious circumstances into something known as The Black Hole. My great-great-aunt Betelgeuse Black…”

He had realized she was joking, and covered her mouth with his to put a stop to it.

***

Then came the catastrophe.

Dumbledore was dead? _Dead_? Severus did it? Severus had fooled Dumbledore? _Dumbledore_? How could Dumbledore be dead? How could anyone have fooled Dumbledore? How could Severus have done it? Lupin hadn’t been this shocked since the death of the Potters and the extremity of Sirius’s apparent betrayal.

Lupin remembered the words Sirius had once spoken to Harry: _they didn’t see what they thought they saw._ In this case there had been only one eyewitness for their side, and by his own account Harry had just come back from some exhausting mission and been under a Freezing Charm at the time. Lupin knew that Harry hated Severus. He did not doubt for a minute that Harry was telling the truth about what he thought he saw, but could it be that what he saw was not what he thought he saw? Still, it was hard to mistake someone pointing a wand at someone at close range and saying “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

Severus had left with the Death Eaters and had returned to Voldemort. He had not communicated with anyone in the Order. If he were still working for the Order, someone would have known. He would have told someone what had really happened. No doubt he was loyal to Voldemort. He had never changed sides after all.

Who would stop Voldemort now? He had already been gaining strength, and now would become much more powerful. Dumbledore was the only wizard who had known as much magic as he did, and the only one he had ever been afraid of. Lupin knew that Dumbledore had confided most in Harry, but he could not have expected the weight of the world to fall on Harry’s shoulders so soon. The boy was not yet seventeen…

“What will we do now?” he said to Tonks.

“How about getting married?”

***

Their marriage was a quiet affair, for it was a somber time, and their friends were regrouping for the battle ahead. But their friends were very happy for them, and Tonks’s parents welcomed Lupin as a son-in-law. Tonks in particular, but her parents as well, seemed to rather enjoy the thought of the shock and outrage that their union would cause to Andromeda’s two sisters, those proud descendents of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Tonks said that unless Voldemort killed her, he was not going to stop her from living her life, and she did not want to put it on hold. And in his eagerness to please, Lupin let his guard down and got her pregnant, and he immediately regretted it. He had never heard of a werewolf fathering a child. What if he had created another werewolf? As the days passed, his apprehension grew. It was impossible. What woman would bear the child of a werewolf? Maybe she was mistaken. No, every day it became more apparent. Maybe he was not the father. No, that was ridiculous, they had hardly been out of each other’s sight since they were engaged.

Lupin had been among the werewolves, and he knew there was no hope for them. They were now seen to be siding with Voldemort, and at the moment it was true, because at the moment that was the side that seemed to be winning. If Voldemort won, they were doomed, and if he lost, the werewolves would be more despised than ever. There would be no effort to integrate them. His child would live a cursed life. He would suffer as Lupin had, for having them as parents he would have a human conscience, but he would have even less of a chance than Lupin had, for there would never be another Dumbledore or another Tonks.

And supposing, as was likely, the child was not a werewolf? He or she would be terribly stigmatized by having a werewolf as a father. The other kids would make fun of his child, and their parents might advise them to stay away. There would always be rejection and discrimination, though it might be subtler. People would think they were all freaks. Tonks thought it did not matter now, but she would change her mind when she saw the suffering of her child, because no mother can stand to see the suffering of her child. She would regret having married him and borne his child.

If he tried to explain this now, she would not let him go, but if he did, she would be better off. She could just say that he was an ordinary wizard who had been killed in the war, and the child could have a normal life. It would not even be too late for her to find someone else, if she wanted to. And supposing the child was a werewolf? She might want to get rid of it somehow, for witches had ways of accomplishing such things, and she would not be able to do that if he were there. He would make it easier on her by leaving her now.

It occurred to Lupin that he might be needed somewhere else, for he knew that Dumbledore had entrusted a secret mission to Harry and his friends that would determine the outcome of the war. Maybe he did not need to know what the mission was in order to help them. He knew that they were the most hunted of fugitives and that, extraordinary as they were, they were only seventeen. Lupin remembered the list of his particular skills that Sirius had once enumerated to him in the cave.

They would need to camp far away from people. Lupin knew very well where such places were, and how to survive in them. They would be constantly pursued by their enemies, and the need for constant vigilance would exhaust them. Lupin, with his sharp senses, would be the perfect sentry. If any of their wands were lost or stolen, they would not be able to replace them, and he could help with his knowledge of wandless magic. He had twenty years on them, and had fought in the last war, and had had exposure to more strange Dark Magic than they had.

He went to seek them out at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

***

He had been afraid to tell Tonks that he thought it was a bad idea for him to father a child. He had been afraid to tell her that he thought the child might be a werewolf. He had been afraid to tell her how he thought the child would be stigmatized by having a werewolf as a father. He had been afraid to tell her why he thought he should leave them, or to hear her answer. He had been afraid even to say goodbye. And that young man whom he so admired, who was as brave as the lion of Gryffindor, had thrown a word in his face that somehow he had felt hanging over him all his life: coward. And while Harry had only attacked him with words, Lupin, wretch that he was, had fired his wand at him.

But Harry had only been half right. He had not just wanted a glamorous adventure. He really had thought that he could help them in their mission, and that the fate of the world depended on it. Had Dumbledore really put all his eggs in one basket? Did he have a back-up plan?

Lupin could remember Dumbledore saying that their biggest advantage over Voldemort was that they knew the value of love, which Voldemort could not feel or understand, and that it was love that would defeat him. Lupin had always thought that since they had the ability to empathize with other people, which made their creed inclusive while Voldemort’s was exclusive, in the long run more people would be on their side. His recent mission had struck doubt in him. But did Dumbledore mean that personal, individual love relationships would defeat Voldemort, such as those between parents and children and lovers and friends? That was so Dumbledore. But he thought of Lily…

And his mind rolled back twenty years to the time when he had watched his arrogant, handsome, uncontaminated friend James snap up the only girl at Hogwarts who had shown him nothing but sympathy when she found out he was a werewolf, instead of recoiling in fear, mistrust or disgust the way other girls did in his youth. She had once held James in contempt, and never himself, as far as he knew, but he would not have dared to approach her in a million years. Would not have dreamed about it, unless he were asleep.

When Lily had defeated Voldemort, she had not been fighting any battle or using any magic that she knew of. She had not protected Harry because she knew he would become a great wizard, or that he would ever defeat Voldemort. She had protected Harry because she loved him. And she had loved him simply because he was her child.

Lupin had had family relationships twice in his life, and both times he had run away out of fear of what he was and what that would mean for his family. What was he? His mind was in turmoil. Another memory was tugging at him, but this one from his wolf mind, perhaps the memory of a memory, perhaps an echo of someone else’s, an echo that had bounced back and forth he knew not how many times or from where, more fraught with loss than any thought his human mind had yet allowed. By being a husband and father he would defeat…Voldemort?

She had never thought she was doing him a favor by accepting him. She had never abandoned him to hopelessness or danger, or left him to guess what she wanted from him. She had not been judging him, only trying to encourage him. Her belief in him had been more persistent and unconditional even than Dumbledore’s had been. It was he, whom she loved, who had abandoned and betrayed her. He would go to her and beg her to take him back.

But she would not take him back. How could she? He had abandoned her when she was pregnant; he was obviously an unfit husband and father. He would still accept his friends’ supposition that the good he did as a human outweighed the harm he did as a werewolf, and he would continue to serve the Order in whatever capacity they saw fit. No doubt they would send him somewhere where she need not see him again, and he would carry out his mission until the Death Eaters killed him, for surely they would kill him without Tonks the Auror there to protect him. He would make no romantic exit through the Artic. He would die in service. But he would not be forgiven.

He would not be forgiven, because he was the same as them…no he wasn’t, he was a soldier against Voldemort…death would come, and with it the numbing of pain…but with this thought his now sober mind could not keep out the memory of what she had said… _had she always been right about him?_ He felt the universe standing still and open, waiting for his next step, the exercise of his free will. No, it would not be for him to decide what she wanted. He owed it to this woman who had offered him everything to face her and do the same.

Where was she now? Probably at her parents’ house, where he had left her. She was pregnant and would not be running around in hiding like most of the members of the Order. Her father had already gone into hiding because he was a Muggle-born wizard. But wasn’t she in just as much danger? Everyone knew she was a member of the Order. Everyone knew she had married him and was carrying his child. Her aunt Bellatrix, the most loyal and cruelest of Voldemort’s followers, was particularly eager to wipe out this unprecedented blot on her family’s pure-blood reputation. Lupin’s blood ran cold at the thought of the danger that he had left her and her family in, but he had no time to lose.

Perhaps they had been shrewd enough to hide the house with the Fidelius Charm. In that case he would have his answer. There were already powerful protective spells around the house, and if his key to them no longer worked, he would have his answer. He landed his broom outside the perimeter of the charms surrounding the house and took out his wand. It still worked.

He walked up to the door and knocked. He was relieved that Tonks answered it, because he needed to talk to her first. When she saw him she looked surprised, then angry.

“Remus, where on earth have you been? You’ve been gone for two weeks, and it hasn’t even been the full moon! Did you get some assignment from the Order that was so dangerous you thought I wouldn’t let you go? Don’t you know I’m an Auror? Don’t you know I’m in the Order too? Don’t you know I’m always in as much danger as you are? What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I got lost.” This was not an untrue statement.

She looked incredulous.

“We’re in the middle of a war. I’m pregnant. My father is a fugitive. My aunt is trying to kill me. In fact, she can’t wait to put the Cruciatus Curse on me until I miscarry and destroy my prospective baby before my eyes. And my husband the Wolf Man, with his infallible sense of smell and direction, got _lost_?”

He was prepared for this. He had resolved to tell her the whole truth, because if she accepted him without knowing what he really was, he would never know whether she had really accepted him, and he would be alone for the rest of his life anyway.

“I didn’t think it was a good idea for me to have children, and I was afraid to tell you so. I was afraid I might have created another werewolf. I couldn’t face what I had done, and so I ran away. I went and offered to help Harry and his friends with their mission, but Harry reminded me of what it had meant for him to lose his parents in his infancy, and he called me a coward and refused my help.

“I thought that if the child was not a werewolf, you both would be better off without me, because the child would be stigmatized by having a werewolf for a father, and if I were gone you could say I was an ordinary wizard who was killed in the war, and the child could have a normal life.”

Could he tell her the worst? He had resolved to tell her everything. “I thought that if it was a werewolf, you might want to get rid of it somehow, and you would not have that option unless I were gone.”

He felt that he had never played the customary part of a man in their courtship, not that anyone cared about such things now, but if he wanted her to know that he had finally heard her, it might become him to try something traditional. He got down on one knee.

“I want to be your husband, Tonks, if you will have me. And, unworthy as I am, I want to be the father of your children. And if you take me back, I will struggle for my right and the right of all werewolves to live and work in the world of other humans, and to obtain the means to stop harming others. I will do my best to set an example for the other werewolves, and for my children, and to leave a better world to them than the one that I inherited.

“And if you will not take me back, which would be perfectly justified and which I will perfectly well understand, I will keep serving in the war until I—until we win, and then I will still try to live my life the way you wanted me to, although you need not see me again if you don’t want to. And—” very strangely, a line from one of those old Muggle plays popped into his head. “As you hear of me, so think of me.”

Tonks looked a little bewildered.

“Of course you can come back, Remus. It’s only been two weeks. But it’s a good thing you didn’t wait any longer.” And then she did about the last thing he was expecting. She smiled.

“I know you very well, Remus. You could have come up with an alibi for such an absence. You could have said that you were captured, and then escaped, or some such thing. Anything could happen at a time like this. But do you know what you did? You chose to tell the whole truth to the person most wronged about the most shameful thing you ever did in your life.

“So get off your knees, Remus Lupin. And don’t ever let anyone call you a coward again.”

***

The night that Remus Lupin appeared at Shell Cottage to proudly announce the birth of his son, he was flush with the idea that for once he had made the right decision in his personal life. For while the decision to marry Tonks and to have a baby had been hers, and the decision to return to her had been Harry’s, the decision to name Harry as the child’s godfather had been his own, and there were several good reasons for it.

Harry had shown how much he cared about the child in their row at Twelve Grimmauld Place, and who would know better than Harry what a child would need from a parent, or would suffer from the loss of one? The child was likely enough to lose his father, for Lupin stood a good chance of being killed in the war. Harry, he believed, would survive, because Lupin had become convinced that both Harry and Voldemort could not survive, and if it was Voldemort who survived, they were all—no, now that he was a father, he could not bear to think it.

There was yet another reason, perhaps a small one, though it was not small to Lupin. While all the violence was ebbing from his dreams, painful memories from his human life were returning to him in his waking state, and there was a troubling one that had haunted him like a shadow for four years, which had recently reappeared to him more clearly. He saw a certain werewolf holding a certain map in a corridor in Hogwarts, cruelly and hypocritically berating a thirteen-year-old boy about disregarding the thing that was most painful to him in the world, the voices of his dying parents pleading for his life, the thing with which dementors were trying to drag him under forever. Something only Lupin had known about, because Harry had confided in him and trusted him. Lupin believed Harry had forgotten it before he realized there was anything to forgive, if he would have realized it anyway, he was so generous. So Lupin was not sure by whom, but he hoped that when he made his offering to Harry, somehow in that moment he would finally be forgiven.

On that occasion Lupin had little time and said he could not stay, but his friends convinced him to stay and have some dinner. They noticed that he ate and drank little, but attributed this to his excitement, for none of them knew that he had recently become a vegetarian, or that he had ever had a drinking problem. But Hermione, who watched him closely all evening, had a suspicion of the truth, for she noticed an involuntary shiver flit across his face as he saw Bill Weasley raise a knife to cut the slab of very rare London Broil before him. Later that evening, Hermione found an occasion to discreetly take Lupin aside and inform him that his child was not a werewolf.

“How do you know? There hasn’t been a full moon yet.”

“I’ve researched the subject. There have been no female werewolves sighted anywhere for hundreds of years, and they were the only ones who ever bore werewolves. There have been cases of male werewolves impregnating women who did not know they were werewolves, and if the woman bore the child, it was never a werewolf. There have also been cases, especially in the foothills of the Himalayas, of werewolves in their wolf form mating with wolves, and their offspring have always been wolves.”

Lupin was astounded, because he knew how the kids had been living, and though Hermione had never ceased to amaze him, he didn’t see how she could possibly have done this research since the last time they met. “When did you have a chance to find this out?” he asked.

“I already knew when you came to Twelve Grimmauld Place, but I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want you to think I was trying to give you false security, or to suggest that it would not be alright if the child were a werewolf. I didn’t think it was my business to get involved when you and Harry were having a row about the thing that was most painful to each of you.”

Lupin, who was in high spirits, flung his arms around her and kissed her, and then returned to the dining room. Hermione looked after him thoughtfully. Although the occasion called for high spirits, she thought she was seeing a bigger change in him than would be accounted for by a single event, however momentous. And this thought shone on an idea germinating in her mind about the future direction of her life.


	7. The Mudblood Healer

Steve Gillyfeld ignored the summons of the Muggle-born Registration Commission, packed his bag with as many essential medical supplies as he could, as well as a bottomless water flask, his wand, a few clothes, and a reductable blanket and tent, and turned his back on St. Mungo’s. He wanted to go back to the family he still felt he belonged to, and pretend this was all a bad dream, but he knew it would put them in deadly danger, for there was a powerful Death Eater who knew only too well who he was and might bother to track him down. His colleagues with Blood Status had already turned their backs on him, maybe because they knew he had always looked down on most of them, and maybe because they knew they could not protect him anyway, for everyone knew of his origins, and he had never had much discretion. But this time he set off on a discreet camping trip through the English countryside, reflecting that his grandparents had survived worse on the continent, and that their faith had made his own life possible. He took the tube to the end of one of the lines, pretending to be a Muggle on a not very pleasant trip, and Disapparated to a forest far from the city.

***

After spending his first night in the forest, Gillyfeld was wandering deeper into it, when he thought he heard the sounds of a man retching and moaning. He quickly approached and saw a half-starved-looking man on the ground whose skin had taken on a greenish hue, and he immediately recognized the signs of plant poisoning. Seeing the situation was urgent, he pulled his water flask and his little bottle of bezoars out of his bag and put a bezoar in the man’s mouth, then held the flask to his lips. The man swallowed, and his throat opened again. His retching stopped. Gillyfeld looked around and quickly spotted the problem, for there was a clump of offerage nearby, a poison plant that looked something like nettles. “That’s offerage,” he said. “You don’t want to go eating that, my friend.”

“Thank you,” said the other, “you saved my life.”

Gillyfeld realized the man was probably a wizard, for he seemed to understand having a bezoar put down his throat. He pointed at some fungi growing at the bases of the nearby trees. “Those are edible,” he said, smiling as he picked one off and ate it, to show that he was not lying.

“Thank you,” said the other man, but he did not introduce himself, and looked as though he did not want to. People out here had reason enough to be wary, so Gillyfeld nodded goodbye and moved on.

As evening came on and he was looking for another place to camp, he heard running water but could not see it, and realized that it was running through a ravine down below him, hidden by thick undergrowth. As he walked alongside it as best he could, he was startled at hearing voices down below.

“There’s no way he can make it down south with us,” a man’s voice was saying. “Not for a few weeks, at least.”

“If ever,” said a woman, sounding even more troubled. “I’m afraid he may not make it at all.”

“We’ll have to stay,” the man said. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“We will surely get caught,” said another male voice. “Snatchers are everywhere, and the ranks of the Death Eaters are growing every day.”

Gillyfeld realized that these must be Muggle-born fugitives like himself, and they sounded as if they needed his help. He managed to approach the edge and lean down into the ravine.

“Psst,” he whispered. “I’m running from the Death Eaters too. I dodged the summons of the Commission yesterday. I’m a Healer, and may be able to help you.”

The two wizards and the witch jumped and looked frightened, but something in Gillyfeld’s face and manner reassured them at once. The first wizard whom he had heard came to the edge and spoke quietly up to him.

“Farther along it’s not as deep. Follow me and I’ll give you a hand, but please climb down carefully. Jerry was too hasty,” he said, indicating an unconscious man on the ground whose leg was in a splint.

Gillyfeld followed to a place where the ground was lower. “You’d better drop down your bag first,” said the other wizard. Gillyfeld dropped it and the man caught it, and then helped Gillyfeld down into the ravine.

Gillyfeld walked over to where Jerry lay, and saw at once that he had suffered head trauma, and that his spine looked a bit out of alignment. _If only we were at St. Mungo’s_ , he thought. Without waiting for introductions, he examined the broken leg and saw that the others had actually done a competent job of setting the bone, so he put a bone-healing charm on it. He then ran his wand over the rest of Jerry’s body looking for fractures. When he reached the fracture in the spine, Jerry convulsed with pain and opened his eyes. “Sorry!” whispered Gillyfeld, putting a hand on Jerry’s chest. He turned and saw that the others had approached.

“Quick, one of you, in my bag,” he said, “there’s a vial of numbing potion. Give me that and the water flask.” The witch opened the bag and handed the items to him. He poured some water into the lid of the flask, which served as a cup, added a drop of the numbing potion and held it to the man’s lips. He gently cradled Jerry’s head so that it was in a position to drink.

“A little numbing potion,” he said reassuringly. “No need to suffer.” He then put a local numbing charm on the fracture, but knew it could only be temporary, because it would interfere with a bone-healing charm. He wanted to move the patient to a better position, but was afraid at the moment it would still cost him more pain than it was worth. He needed to work on the head trauma, because only when that improved would it be safe to give him more numbing potion.

“I need to brew a potion for Jerry’s concussion,” he said to the others. “I have most of the ingredients, but there’s one I need to gather from the woods.” _If Merlin lets me find it_ , he thought. “Please say a few words to him. He will pull through this. You, friend,” he said to the wizard who had helped him down. “Please give me a leg up to the other side.” He did, and Gillyfeld scrambled up and into the woods.

The others looked at each other in some amazement. “This is a wizard indeed,” said the other wizard, the second one Gillyfeld had heard.

“He’s a Healer, Jake,” said the witch. “I wouldn’t always have been so careful to keep out of St. Mungo’s if I’d known there were wizards like that there.”

The first wizard chuckled, but Jake looked at the witch suspiciously. After a half hour or so Gillyfeld returned with what looked like some blue ladybugs in a jar. He saw that the others had made a fireplace with stones and that there were some pieces of charcoal in it. He took a squat copper pot from his bag, placed it on a flat stone that they had laid above the hearth, and lit the fire with his wand. He proceeded to add various ingredients from his bag, including some water, adding each one after a certain interval, and touching the potion each time with his wand. He added the bugs last, and the potion turned a light, clear blue. He then extinguished the fire and carefully caused the pot to hover to the ground near the patient. He tapped the pot with his wand to cool it. Then he removed the lid of his flask, dipped it in the potion, cradled Jerry’s head again, and urged him to drink. Jerry drank, and Gillyfeld gently lowered his head again. He wiped his own brow with his sleeve and finally turned to the others, who applauded. Gillyfeld smiled and sat down with them. 

“Steve,” said the first wizard, extending his hand.

“How did you know?” said Gillyfeld, shaking it.

“Know what?”

“That my name is Steve.”

“I didn’t. I was introducing myself. My name is Steve.”

The others laughed.

“Brenda,” said the witch, also shaking Gillyfeld’s hand. “Maybe we better call you Dr. Steve, so we don’t get mixed up.”

“Jake,” said the other wizard, also shaking Gillyfeld’s hand. “You’ll have a treat tonight. Brenda caught a rabbit. She’s good with snares.”

“I enchant them,” Brenda explained.

“Who can resist that?” said Jake.

“I’m the multiplier, though I’m not very good at it,” said Steve.

But Gillyfeld had turned to look at his patient. “In a couple more hours it will be safe to give him more numbing potion, and then I can move him to a better position. The healing charms will work on the bones all night. I think by tomorrow you’ll see quite an improvement.” Steve patted him on the back.

“Let’s get dinner started,” said Jake. “Brenda, remember where you left that rabbit? Can you bring it over here and skin it?” He went and retrieved a frying pan from the undergrowth, rinsed it in the stream with some pebbles, and placed it on the hearth. Brenda came back with the rabbit, skinned it with her wand, and pulled off pieces and dropped them into the pan.

Steve pointed his wand at the contents of the pan, and with great effort, caused them to double. “ _Double Double!_ ” he said.

“Toil and trouble,” said Brenda wearily, but when she looked up she saw an enlivening expression of merriment in Gillyfeld’s warm brown eyes. As the smell of cooking meat rose from the pan, they all suddenly realized they were famished.

After eating, it was Steve who looked over at Jerry with concern. “Will he be able to travel again, Dr. Steve? Is it possible to say when? You see, we’re making our way down south to Apparate across the channel. We haven’t really mastered transcontinental Apparition yet.”

“You should definitely give him another day, but I think the following day he’ll be back on his feet. Move out of danger when you need to, but I’d still go easy for the next week or so.”

“And what about you?” asked Jake. “What are you going to do?”

“I didn’t really plan ahead, but in two days I’ve already found plenty to do,” said Gillyfeld good-humoredly. “I wanted to ask whether you’ve seen any other fugitives on your path, especially any sick or injured ones.”

The others looked worried.

“Do you mean to wander around as an itinerant Healer?” said Steve. “You’ll be caught in no time.”

“Why don’t you come with us?” said Brenda. “We plan to stay alive, and we’d love to have you.”

Gillyfeld looked serious. “This is my home, and it hasn’t been conquered yet. I still think I can make a difference here.”

“Don’t throw your life away, Dr. Steve,” said Jake. “If we win, you’ll be needed after the war too.”

“I don’t consider doing my job to be throwing my life away.”

Jake looked a little affronted, as if this were a rebuke.

“I mean, it’s the only thing that keeps me going.” And with that thought he turned to his patient again. Thinking it was now safe to give him a couple more drops of numbing potion, he returned to Jerry with the flask, touched his face to wake him, raised his head and bid him drink again. After a few minutes he engorged his blanket and laid it on a flatter place on the ground nearby, and asked one of the other wizards to help him move the patient. Brenda came and put her arms under Jerry’s shoulders while Gillyfeld lifted his lower half, and they carried him over and placed him on the blanket. Gillyfeld made a pile of mud and moss to elevate Jerry’s leg a bit, and Brenda sat down again nearby. Gillyfeld took his wand and touched the fracture on Jerry’s spine to lift the numbing spell so he could administer the bone-healing charm. The patient moaned, and Brenda saw a look of pain cross Gillyfeld’s own face. She was watching Gillyfeld in the firelight with increasing fascination.

She was struck by how gently, even tenderly, the Healer handled his charge, and she thought she had never seen such a display of competence combined with such sensitivity. He must be a very experienced Healer, she knew, but his face still looked young. This war would change him, if he even survived. She wished she could keep him just as he was.

After everyone had settled in for the night, she quietly crawled over to him and saw that he was still awake. “You of the gentle touch,” she whispered, “does your patient need you by his side all night?”

“I gave him another drop, and he’s sleeping soundly now. He should sleep through the night, which is the best thing for him. But I wouldn’t want to be too far away. Why?”

“I was wondering if you’d like—to spend the night with me. Around the bend it’s more private, but you could still hear them if they called for you. I understand if you don’t think it’s a good idea, so don’t worry about it. But I thought I would let you know that I’d like that, if you would.”

In the dark she could barely see a look of grateful surprise flicker in his face. “Yes, yes,” he whispered. “Take your blanket and go around the bend, and I’ll follow you.”

She took her blanket and went around a bend in the ravine, and he followed her.

***

If she expected his demeanor toward her to be the same as toward a severely injured man, she was in for a surprise. She drew him down to her side and held him against her, thinking he must be exhausted, and wanting to soothe him. He threw aside the blanket and, holding on tightly, laughingly rolled her over and over across the floor of the ravine, through the stream, which was fortunately shallow at that point, and mostly served to get his own back wet. He set in to devour her with such eager and impatient enthusiasm that she immediately whispered to him to slow down, but that was the last thing he heard, so absorbed was he in his own experience of something almost forgotten. Afterwards he saw that she was angry.

“Couldn’t you hear that I was trying to be quiet?” she hissed. “Do you realize the noise you made? Did you want to disturb the patient you were so carefully tending to all afternoon?”

He felt as if waking up from a dream. People had often told him that he made too much noise when he got carried away, and in his sublime self-confidence he had not heeded them, for he had never had anything to hide. But he had never been this close to a patient when not on duty. Realizing she was right, he buttoned his clothes and walked softly over to the camp, a guilty fear growing on him. He approached Jerry and saw that he still seemed to be sleeping tranquilly, but he realized that if he had woken the patient the pain might have started again and he might have been awake for hours. And then an even worse thought gripped him.

He had been inattentive to _her_. He vaguely remembered now sometime hearing “shh” but somehow not hearing it. What if she had tried to give him other signals that he had ignored? He might have hurt her in some way. He was a Healer, and to his shame he had hardly tried to give her the enjoyment he had taken for himself, or paid much attention to her reactions. He thought it was unlikely he had, considering her mood afterwards. He looked anxiously from his patient to the bend in the ravine beyond which he had left her. How could he have so forgotten himself? He sat down on the edge of the slope and put his head in his hands, fighting back tears as the events of the last few days flashed through his mind.

He had known he was in deadly danger before he got the summons from the commission. Everyone knew he was a Muggle-born despite his joke of a name change, only made because that was what everyone called him. No one could have protected his identity. He spent any time he could spare visiting his Muggle parents in northeast London, and he had loudly decried the way wizarding society snapped up Muggle-born wizards and eventually made them practically forget their families, and even be willing to modify their memories, which he considered a crime. He had been brought up to think that his own sense of right was more important than social approbation or the laws of governments, for his forbears had believed in some sort of Higher Power whose law did not necessarily coincide with either of these. Perhaps he had been tolerated because he was so good at what he did, and the hospital needed good Healers too much to let people with no knowledge of the matter dictate their personnel policies. A Death Eater in disguise had once dug up everything he could on Gillyfeld, as if any of it were a secret, in a vindictive and fruitless effort to get him dismissed. _Now that gilded serpent finally had his wish_ , thought Gillyfeld bitterly.

He had packed his Healer’s bag as if he were going out to make a house call, not wanting to consider that he had lost his job. He had set off alone as if there were no tomorrow, pretending to himself that he was not afraid, although he faced probable hunger and possible capture or death, and with that the possibility that he might never see his beloved family again. The following day he had found out that he had lost his job but not his occupation, for he had saved one man from certain and another from likely death. He had saved many lives at St. Mungo’s, but always with the backup of people who knew what they were doing and could help. This time he had been alone, and he had never felt so responsible. He didn’t know he would find the ingredient for Jerry’s potion, and could not offer him a bed or be sure at every step that what he was doing would be safe, but he had maintained a show of confidence to reassure the others, acting as if it were all in a day’s work for the brilliant Dr. Steve. And at the end of the two scariest and most stressful days of his adult life, he had been offered something that he was seldom offered and had seldom had time to seek in a life in which all his time and energy had been poured into his work. Already high on adrenaline and grasping at an opportunity he expected never to have again in a life that might end at any moment, he had acted like a kid. He had always thought his arrogance had been an indifference to social pressure in favor of better principles. This could not be said of his most recent behavior. Perhaps he had been conceited. Perhaps there were many times when he should have listened to others, but did not.

 _You of the gentle touch_ , she had called him. He was not the person she had asked for. She might not want him to go back, but he couldn’t just leave her there, he would have to go back and ask her. Tentatively he rounded the corner to where she could see him, and she beckoned to him. He approached to where he was near enough to hear a whisper, and fell to his knees. “I’m sorry,” he said. She pulled him down beside her again and snuggled against him, maybe only because she was cold, he thought, for the night had become chilly, but he put his arms around her and cuddled her affectionately, listening with his ears and his body to any indication of how she was feeling and what she wanted. And as he listened silently and attentively, he heard sounds in the night that he had never heard before.

He heard leaves rustling faintly in the breeze on the land above, and thought he heard the scampering of rodents there, creatures of the night. He heard the trickling of the stream nearby, the one he had rolled her through without considering that if he got her wet she might later be cold. He felt his heartbeat and hers, heard the sound of his breathing and hers. He especially listened to her breathing, which had become slower and more even, for she had dropped off to sleep in his warm and comforting embrace. As he fell asleep himself, the last thought in his mind was a question: whether this war would change him for the better or the worse.

***

When he awoke to the sound of birdsong with a woman in his arms, he knew the darkness on the land could not last long, and that life, as always, would triumph over death. He stretched contentedly and turned to her again, but then, suddenly remembering the events of the previous day, sat up and looked at her with concern.

“How are you?”

“About as well as could be expected, for someone who’s been dodging them for a week and will have to for another week.”

Gillyfeld had a new insight into her anger of the night before. “He didn’t wake up, and hopefully will be much better today. I’m terribly sorry for the way I acted. I’ve been alone too much, not that that’s any excuse.”

“Were you really alone back there?” she said coolly. “I would think you’d be quite a catch.”

“I’ve always worked very long hours at the hospital, and I’m such a loudmouthed maverick that no one there wants to be too closely associated with me.” At this they both laughed. “Come on, let’s see how they’re doing.”

When they returned to the camp, the others were already up, and Jake gave Gillyfeld a very dirty look, which he attributed to jealousy.

“Would you like some breakfast?” said Steve rather humorously. “We’ve been using the same coffee grounds for a week, but we still get something out of them.”

Gillyfeld looked into the proffered pot and frowned. “Is this all the food you have left?”

“I’m afraid it’s all we’ve got, Dr. Steve,” said Jake sourly. “When the war is over you can send us a bill for your services.”

Gillyfeld looked at him in surprise. “I’m concerned that you don’t have any food left. I’m afraid Jerry won’t heal much today on coffee.” Jake looked a little ashamed. Gillyfeld walked over to Jerry and could see to his relief that the patient was already much better.

Jerry smiled and spoke for the first time. “I hear they call you Dr. Steve,” he said. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“My pleasure,” said Gillyfeld, for he felt that in spite of the fear he had hidden from the others, his work of the previous day had been more meaningful than that of any day at St. Mungo’s. He turned back to the others. “You have more food than you think,” he said. “Are there any rabbit drippings left in the pan?”

Steve picked up the frying pan, which was coated with a layer of congealed grease. “You think we should feed him this?” he asked doubtfully.

“We can use it to fry the fungi and greens from the woods. It will make them more digestible.”

“Those fungi on the trees?” said Brenda. “We thought of eating them, but we didn’t know whether they were poisonous.”

“They’re not. And there are some edible plants up there too. Just give me a minute.”

Again they watched in amazement as he scrambled up the lower side of the ravine, Steve running quickly to stand beneath and make sure he didn’t fall. In a few minutes he returned with the fungi and some edible greens. Jake lit the fire, and soon the pan of drippings crackled, and Gillyfeld rinsed off the fungi and broke them into the pan, stirring them with a fork. When they had softened, he added the greens, stirred, and extinguished the fire. “Come and get it,” he said, with a look of suppressed mirth. He waved the pan in the air to cool it, and they all passed it around, together with the fork, and ate a few mouthfuls. Gillyfeld could hardly keep from laughing as he watched each of them taste it, grimace involuntarily, and then pretend to look delighted.

“I knew you wouldn’t like it, but it’s quite nutritious. It will sustain you better than week-old coffee.” He took the rest over to Jerry, who was able to sit up and eat without assistance. When Gillyfeld saw Jerry sit up without showing any sign of pain, he almost jumped for joy. He squeezed Jerry’s shoulder and then turned back to the others and shook hands with all of them again.

“I’d best be going now,” he said. “Jerry, see how you feel. You know Apparition is hard on the body, but a week was just an estimate. You’ll have to weigh one danger against the other.”

“You said we can’t move today,” said Steve. “Why on earth do you have to leave now?”

“I’m sorry,” said Gillyfeld, “but somehow I can’t just sit here, when I’m so used to working. I’ll start thinking about things…” He was secretly worried about who might fall in love, come to blows, be intensely frustrated or severely disappointed if he spent another night there, and he knew that if he was to leave that day, the sooner the better, because they would be safer if he camped far away from them. Then he smiled.

“Maybe we’ll meet again. _Bon voyage_. You’ll have better food in France.”

“Don’t you need a blanket? You left yours under Jerry,” said Brenda. “Here, take mine. Steve can multiply another one.” She didn’t tell him she had enchanted it to always keep him warm, no matter how cold it was.

“Thank you,” said Gillyfeld, catching her eye for a moment, and she saw the spark of warm liveliness in his that had caught hers from the first.

“Isn’t there breakable stuff in your bag?” said Steve. “You’ll probably need two of us to get you back up again.”

“Steve can help me up first, and then you, and I can hold on to your legs while you reach down for your bag,” said Jake.

“Sounds good,” said Gillyfeld. When he was safely on the ground above with his bag, Jake was the last to say goodbye.

“Please be careful, Dr. Steve,” he said. “It’s not too late to save your life.”

***

As he was walking through the forest late that afternoon, Gillyfeld more than once sensed movement among the leaves, and wondered whether it was an animal or whether he was being watched or followed. He stepped into a clearing and three men emerged, pointing wands at him. He was startled to see that one was the young man whom he had saved from plant poisoning the day before, and he saw that the young man was also startled. Gillyfeld noticed now that the man only looked about twenty, and there was a red-haired boy with them who looked even younger, and a swarthier-looking older man who seemed to be in charge.

“Aha!” said the older man triumphantly. “I think we’ve caught a fugitive! _Incarcerous!_ ” Ropes flew out of his wand and bound Gillyfeld’s whole body, including his bag, which was caught inside. For an instant Gillyfeld’s eyes met those of the man he had saved, who put his finger to his lips for a second and threw him a conspiratorial look as if entreating him to play along for a while.

“His wand?” said the red-haired boy.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” said the swarthy man, but nothing happened, since Gillyfeld’s wand was in his bag.

“Maybe it’s in his bag,” suggested the boy.

“ _Accio!_ ” said the man, and the bag jiggled a little against the ropes. It occurred to Gillyfeld that these were not the most competent wizards he had ever seen, and that this might work to his advantage.

“Stebbins, you try to untie his bag,” said the leader to the young man whose life Gillyfeld had saved. Stebbins pretended to try to untie the bag. “Simpson, do you have the list?” he said to the red-haired boy. The boy produced a long piece of parchment. “What’s your name?” said the leader sharply to Gillyfeld.

“Tom Jones,” said Gillyfeld, since it was the first thing that came into his head.

Simpson ran his finger down the list. “Tom Jones…Tom Jones…there’s no Tom Jones on this list, Horace.”

Horace suddenly kicked Gillyfeld in the stomach and he doubled over in pain. The ropes tightened around him and, unable to stand up, he sank to his knees. “Tell us your real name, Mudblood, and they may spare your life.”

But Stebbins was staring at Gillyfeld as if concentrating to remember something. “Wait a minute, Horace. I think this is…yes, I’m sure, this is Tom Jones, I remember him from Hogwarts. He was one of the older boys. He was a seventh year student there when I was just a first year.”

“What house was he in?” asked Horace suspiciously.

“Hufflepuff,” said Stebbins.

“Ha!” said Horace. “They’ll take anyone.” He looked to Simpson for corroboration, but Simpson looked blank, because he had been a Hufflepuff.

“He’s not a Muggle-born,” said Stebbins. “His mother is a witch, Grendel Jones. She’s an administrator at the hospital. She’s helping to implement the changes.”

“And what’s a wizard with Blood Status doing sneaking around like a fugitive in the forest?”

“Has it become unlawful for a peaceful pure-blood wizard to leave his home?” said Gillyfeld haughtily, although he could not stand up. “That is not what my parents have told me about the new regime. They will be disappointed to hear it.”

The others hesitated. Gillyfeld looked relatively neat and clean, had not had a wand at the ready or looked defensive, and was carrying a leather bag that looked more like a Healer’s bag than like one used for a sojourn in the wild.

“They get angry if we waste their time by bringing in the wrong people, and much worse if their parents are loyal,” said Stebbins.

Now Simpson agreed. “It probably isn’t worth the risk.”

Horace hesitated a bit longer, then undid the Incarcerous hex, but continued to point his wand at Gillyfeld. Released from his bonds, Gillyfeld stood up.

“Very well, Mr. Jones,” said Horace in a menacing tone, “but I would strongly advise a decent wizard never again to go wandering so deep into a forest filled with such dubious characters.”

It took all the self-control Gillyfeld could muster not to laugh at this statement, but, feigning indignation, he shook himself off, picked up his bag, and continued on his way.

He realized that he would probably not be as lucky the next time. He would not look relatively neat and clean for long, and would not have an ally among every group of Snatchers he met. But in the weeks that followed, strange things continued to happen. Since he would treat any sick or injured person he came across, this included a number of Snatchers, because the Snatchers were treacherous and would abandon members of their own parties who became sick or injured. Many of them decided it was just as well to have Gillyfeld at large in case this should happen to them. Gillyfeld was such an effective Healer, and operated so boldly, many thought he might have other kinds of powerful magic, and that it was too dangerous to try to apprehend him. Some honored life debts, like the first man he had saved. Some were even Muggle-borns trying to save their necks by posing as Snatchers, and were afraid Gillyfeld knew too much. So a consensus emerged among the Snatchers to leave Gillyfeld alone, and a legend began to spread throughout the land about the merry “Mudblood Healer” who sided with no one but the needy and who was impossible to catch.

***

Back at the Malfoy Manor, the Death Eaters were incredulous.

“The fools!” snarled Bellatrix. “Don’t they know there’s a price on his head? Since when do they care about anything else?”

“They care about their own skins,” said Bentley, a junior Death Eater who had recently received the Dark Mark.

“Don’t they know what we’ll do to their skins if we catch them letting Mudbloods escape? We should bring him here and interrogate him. He knows the lay of the land, and the places where he has found fugitives. We can also question him about his methods.”

“There are no longer any secrets to his art,” drawled Lucius Malfoy. “Our degenerate society has made the training of Healers an open book, its contents to be stolen by any vulgar person of any birth. The days of venerated Healers with their inherited ancient magic are almost gone, and will only be restored with the full triumph of the Dark Lord. They were even starting to use Muggle medicine at St. Mungo’s.”

“I think it’s disgraceful,” sniffed Narcissa, “that after everything my husband did for the hospital under the former Ministry, he never had any influence over the hiring process.”

“Disgraceful or not, he seems to have learned his art well, and will practice it honestly on any sick or injured person. Maybe we should force him to work for us,” said Bentley.

“The Dark Lord employ a Mudblood?” said Bellatrix indignantly, looking at Bentley with increasing suspicion. “Who knows what he will do unless we interrogate him by means that leave him unfit to work?”

“My sister-in-law is right,” said Malfoy in a harder tone. “We must send real Death Eaters to catch him, extract whatever information we can, and then discard him.” Malfoy had a suspicion of who the Mudblood Healer was, and that impudent werewolf-loving thief had dared to complain to St. Mungo’s administration that Malfoy’s purchased influence was corrupting the priorities of the hospital. Under Voldemort’s orders, Malfoy had stipulated that no money from his donations should ever be used to buy the Wolfsbane Potion.

“Leave it to me,” said Bentley. “He will not be difficult to trap.”

***

Gillyfeld was walking through a depressed meadow towards some poplar trees on the other side, looking for a suitable place to sleep, when he glanced up at the distant horizon and stared. Someone had just fired the Dark Mark over what he knew was an area with a few Muggle lanes and houses straggling into the countryside. Death Eaters must have attacked the Muggles. Such attacks were common now. Another person murdered, perhaps, or another house torched—but perhaps someone left behind, injured and in need of help? His help? If he went there was a great risk of capture, but also a chance that the Death Eaters had already left. It was likely that there was no one left to heal, but possible that there was. He had once taken an oath that he had never forsworn. He clasped his bag tightly in his arms and Disapparated to the very edge of Muggle settlement.

He walked down the dark dirt country lane, passing two little houses at long intervals, neither of which showed any signs of life. Eventually, turning a corner in the lane, he saw what looked like two bodies in the road, and a man kneeling next to them, apparently shaking with fear. On approaching, Gillyfeld soon saw that the bodies were dead, and he approached the frightened man, for his concern was with the living. The man looked up at Gillyfeld and recoiled in fear, so Gillyfeld also dropped to his knees.

“Please,” he said, “I’m a medic. I’ve come to help. There are strange murderers on the loose, and I’ve heard there was an attack here.” Gillyfeld did not know how he could possibly account for where he had come from.

The shaking man only gripped his shoulder and pointed at the sky. “Is it—there?”

Gillyfeld looked up and saw the green lights forming the skull and serpent, hanging above them in the night sky. A shudder of revulsion passed through him, for he had never seen it so close, so bright, and so dominant. It looked to him as if it would never set or fade. He felt his heart slipping as he thought of the witches and wizards in his own world, seduced by its glamour or silenced by its terror, or feeling securely that that emblem of hatred did not apply to them.

“Is it there?” the man repeated, and Gillyfeld realized the man might think he was hallucinating. “It’s there,” he said. The man could not see Gillyfeld’s face, only hear the contempt in his voice. “Some crazy cult that thinks they can impress people with such fireworks.”

Gillyfeld took his flask out of his bag and held it under the man’s lips. “Please—you’ve had a terrible shock. Have a sip of water.” The man took the flask and sipped a little. Gillyfeld slowly put his arm around him, ready to retract it if he showed any objection to being touched. “I can put a drop of something in it—some calming medicine. I think at the moment it would be a good idea.” The man nodded absently. Gillyfeld filled the lid of the flask with water, took out a vial of calming potion and added a drop to the water in the cup. The man drank it with the same absent expression. Gillyfeld felt his trembling gradually come to a stop. He wished he could engorge the blanket or the cloak in his bag, but he thought that the use of his wand would terrify the man all over again. He led the man a little toward the edge of the woods, farther from the corpses. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked gently.

“They came all in black and hooded, firing laser guns like Darth Vader. I thought they were trying to be funny, and called out to them to quit, but then my friends fell. I went up to my friends—they were dead.” He gripped Gillyfeld’s arm. “Are they really there? Are they really dead? When you came, I still hoped it was a dream or a hallucination.”

Gillyfeld rubbed his back. “They belong to a strange murderous cult, and they make their attacks look as strange and terrifying as possible. In your shock, your mind may have distorted a little what you saw.” How he hated to lie. How many Muggles had already seen the Dark Mark? How many had seen Death Eaters? Were they really better off not knowing what they were dealing with? Gillyfeld had always thought the Wizarding Statute of Secrecy was condescending to Muggles. Yet if he told the truth, the man would think he was crazy too. If they really found out at this point, they would all go crazy with fear, which could only help Voldemort.

In a life in which the path of right had always seemed clear to him, he had never been so unsure of what to do. He thought of going to one of the houses, dialing the emergency number, and letting the Muggles handle it from there. But what would the man think a medic was doing here, if they didn’t know already? Why would he not have a mobile phone? The man would mistrust him again, and how could Gillyfeld leave him alone and in terror? The policy of his former government would have been to modify his memory, but Gillyfeld’s spirit revolted at such an idea.

He tried to think quickly. He must be sure the man would not be a suspect, unlikely as it was. Another drop would put him in a peaceful slumber, and two would leave him unharmed but unconscious while Gillyfeld went to the nearest house to call for help. If no one was home, he could open it with his wand. He had never before done anything to a conscious patient without their consent. Gritting his teeth, he filled the cup, put two drops in it, and urged the man to drink some more water. Soon the man lay down and fell asleep.

Weren’t the Muggles being terrified anyway by these inexplicable woundless deaths? How many memories could be modified? He sighed. The idiotic old Ministry…but this was just what their statute had been aimed at preventing…it was too late to explain, they would be overwhelmed…it was the wizards who must defeat Voldemort…he concentrated… _from right before the Death Eaters appeared until this moment_ …

Gillyfeld had been raised with the admonition “Never forget.” Though he had mocked the teacher and doubted everything he said, he believed he was the only student at Hogwarts who had not slept through History of Magic. He believed that he had never raised his wand to anyone except to help them or to heal them, and that it was knowledge of the truth that empowered people most. He could barely keep his wand arm steady and he momentarily closed his eyes as he aimed at the man and spoke the terrible word:

“ _Obliviate!_ ”

***

When he reached the country house, all was shuttered, dark and quiet, but he knocked on the door, and to his surprise, it opened when he pushed it.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” he heard, and for an instant he thought it might be the retribution of a Higher Power for the recent misuse of his wand. But another spell was immediately cast, and he found himself shackled to a chair.

“ _Lumos!_ ”

The light shone in his eyes, and he saw that he was seated at a wooden table with three masked Death Eaters, one of them standing and pointing his wand at him. Another one stood and picked up his bag, which had fallen on the floor, and dumped its contents out onto the table.

“Well, if it isn’t the Mudblood Healer,” he taunted. “Our master has need of your services.”

Gillyfeld felt a moment of rage such as he had never known as he realized that these must be the men who had perpetrated the monstrosity outside. Yet he also felt a little of something like pity as he considered that these men did not dare show their faces and were serving a master who would cruelly kill them if he found out that they showed any independence of mind or humanity in their actions. He wondered whether it was too late for all of them.

He might well wonder, because although he could not see their faces, they could see his, and the third Death Eater had recognized Gillyfeld’s ingenuous face as that of the Healer who had saved his life some years earlier at St. Mungo’s after he had poisoned himself with a poorly made illegal potion. The Healer had not reported him to the Ministry. The Death Eater knew that his orders were to take Gillyfeld back to the Malfoy Manor to be tortured to death for information. He had to think quickly. With the advantage of surprise, he rapidly fired his wand at his two associates.

_“Confundo! Confundo!”_

“Our orders have changed,” he said to their bemused faces. “Bentley spoke to me just before we left. They will not waste their time on an interrogation, because fugitives are always on the move, and his information will only waste our time or lead us into traps. His healing methods are common knowledge.”

 _They have no knowledge of the one that matters_ , thought Gillyfeld.

“Are we to kill him, then?”

“No, we do not want to make a martyr of him, for public opinion is still in the balance. There is only one place to knock some sense into such a clown. To Azkaban!”

The Death Eater knew that if he let Gillyfeld escape, he would only be captured again, but at Azkaban there were now so many Muggle-born prisoners that he might escape detection. He would tell his superiors that Gillyfeld had not come, which would not be surprising, since they did not know where he was and many traps had been set.

***

Gillyfeld knew that the Death Eater who had taken him to Azkaban had disobeyed his orders, since he had confunded his associates, and he entered the dreaded prison with such renewed optimism that the dementors, who were becoming overwhelmed anyway, had not sucked out half his happy thoughts by the time he was released at the end of the war. The experience did, however, leave some streaks of grey in his dark brown hair and some lines in his formerly fresh young face. After a brief period of recovery, he returned to St. Mungo’s, where he knew he was more needed than ever. Since no one else thought to do it, he opened a clinic there for people who had suffered emotional damage as a result of their imprisonment in Azkaban. These comprised the biggest sector of those with long-term injuries from the war, since witches and wizards had effective ways of healing most physical injuries quickly.

Gillyfeld had always been unhappy with the treatment of the mentally ill at St. Mungo’s. They had often been written off as incurable, treated like children, and given potions that would make them easier for the staff to handle, without much attention to the wishes or needs of the patient. There even still lingered use of a potion Gillyfeld considered cruel, which would shock a patient into basic functionality at the expense of causing some loss of independence of mind. Gillyfeld believed that all of those things were the opposite of what the former detainees needed. Having been terrorized by Death Eaters and dementors, they needed to know first of all that they were in a safe environment, and to be brought back as much as possible to the memory of who they had been and what their interests and loves had been before dementors had operated to suck them out.

The hospital agreed to Gillyfeld’s project, since there were far too many such people to be housed on the old psych ward. Gillyfeld was certain that all the patients could be recovered, since the rule of the Death Eaters had only lasted a year. He put his foot down that there was to be no involuntary treatment on his ward, and would only administer potions to ease the suffering of the patients, not that of the staff. He strongly encouraged the patients’ loved ones to visit as often as possible, and to talk to the patients as they would have before about the things that had previously interested them and given them joy, even if they seemed unresponsive. He also encouraged them to be physically affectionate, because he knew that the patients had been in solitary confinement and needed a human touch.

If they had no loved ones, or none who would visit or whom the patients wanted to see, Gillyfeld would talk to them at length himself and try to draw them out, and he could sometimes be seen holding the hand or stroking the back of a particularly lonely, frightened or distressed patient. This was against hospital policy, since it was sometimes difficult to draw the line with a needy patient, but Gillyfeld thought it was better than keeping such patients in a cold clinical environment. The situation was ameliorated when the hospital received an anonymous donation of Comforters, magic blankets that had been enchanted to have a warmth of their own and to comfort the person beneath them. No one dared challenge his methods anyway, since they had a high success rate and he exerted such authority in his own clinic.

His patients, almost all of whom were Muggle-born, so came to trust “Dr. Steve,” as he mysteriously came to be called, that if a patient became a threat to others Gillyfeld could usually stop it by putting his arms around the patient to restrain them and talking them into bed, without using his wand. On those rare occasions when a patient had to be restrained for longer, Gillyfeld would talk to them every day about why they were angry, and found that the behavior was often a plea to be listened to, for he had become a good listener.

Gillyfeld did not believe in hero worship and seldom mentioned the brave young wizard whose name was on everyone else’s lips. During the war he had seen many small acts of courage and of cowardice, of cruelty and of humanity, and had seen humanity prevail. He would never know the fate of the Death Eater who had spared his life. If the other Death Eaters found out who had taken Gillyfeld to Azkaban, he surely had been murdered. Perhaps there had been other such Death Eaters, and many more wizards of Blood Status who had protected the identities of Muggle-born wizards. He would never believe that the outcome of such a conflict came down to the qualities of a single individual or the outcome of a single duel. This feeling was intensified when he found that one of his many challenges as a psychological Healer became convincing his patients that they did not have to be like Harry Potter.

“But Harry Potter did this, but Harry Potter did that,” he mimicked in exasperation when he was alone, running his hands through his graying hair. “Harry Potter won a duel with Voldemort when he was fourteen, and I’ve never won a duel in my life. Why was it Harry Potter, not I, who drove away the dementors at my wife’s interrogation? What kind of husband am I?” Gillyfeld tried to share with them the things he had always valued in his own life, meaningful work and the faith that everyone’s actions made a difference, not only in the present but in a compact between generations. “As for dueling with wands,” he would say, “that stuff is never as cool as it looks.” He would never know that Harry had always said the same thing about his own exploits.

Though his war experience had not shaken the confident optimism of Gillyfeld’s youth, it had left him more patient with those who did not share it, and his mind sometimes turned to the memory of a certain conversation he had once had with a certain werewolf whom he had impatiently tried to encourage. He knew now that he had been right to try to convince Remus Lupin of his own worth, but wrong to mock his low self-esteem. He had not been sensitive enough to the difference in their social positions and to the nearly insurmountable obstacles facing Lupin. It occurred to him that Lupin might be better able to accept his friendship now that Gillyfeld knew what it was like to be involuntarily cast out of wizarding society and had seen for himself that external circumstances could bring anyone to their knees. And thinking of Lupin gave him a great idea for his project.

Gillyfeld knew that Lupin had once emerged from years of obscurity and unemployment to be a very good Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, and that he was reputed to have had some particular success in teaching the Patronus Charm. Gillyfeld was a Healer, not a teacher, and did not know how to teach the Patronus Charm, and he realized that it would be just the thing for his patients. In order to learn the charm, the patients would have to access those memories that were truly their greatest sources of joy, and they would form the habit of thinking of them as they continued to practice. They would have a sense of accomplishment as they saw their Patronus get stronger, and this would give them more motivation to think in just the way that would heal them the most. Having the charm under their belt would protect them from relapses in any future brush with dementors, relapses to which those who had been previously harmed by dementors were especially vulnerable.

Gillyfeld knew that it would still be difficult for Lupin to find a job, and was very excited by the prospect of offering him one that would not only give him security, but for which he really was needed. He went looking for Lupin, only to find out that the partner he sought had made the ultimate sacrifice for Gillyfeld’s freedom as well as for his own.

When Gillyfeld went to pay his respects at Lupin’s grave, his heart was warmed to find that Lupin had been married, although his wife had apparently died in the same battle, and that their grave was bedecked with flowers and other tokens of love. As he was pondering the strange epitaph:

SHAPESHIFTERS WHO FOUND THEIR TRUE FORM

he became aware of a pale and silent mourner some distance farther back, who seemed shy to approach. When Gillyfeld greeted the man and asked him of his relationship to Lupin, he answered simply: “I’m a werewolf.”


	8. The Sorceresses

Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks were survived by their son Teddy and by Tonks’s mother Andromeda, in whose care the baby remained. Andromeda, who had lost both her husband and her only child in rapid succession, thought that the baby should be the focus of all her love and give her hope for the future. She thought that she should take enough joy and comfort in the baby to compensate for her loss, but it was not enough, for Andromeda was distracted with grief. She had been expelled from the family of her birth for the love of Ted Tonks, and he had been the mainstay of her life for twenty-five years, and her fearless daughter had been her pride and joy. Their absence left a void in her that nothing could fill.

Andromeda had been a mother and knew how to take care of a baby, and she did not neglect the baby’s physical needs, yet she knew that she was not bonding with him in the way that a child really needed, because too much of her heart was somewhere else. Harry was worried too, and spent whatever time he could spare with the baby, and was more lively and stimulating with him than she was. Both of them knew that Andromeda was not well, but that Harry was too young, too busy and too unsettled to be responsible for a child, and they regarded each other not with jealousy but with the same shared concern. Harry’s concern deepened when he heard her wandering distractedly from room to room, softly calling “Ted? Ted?” because he knew it was her husband she was looking for, not her grandson.

Harry was living with the Weasleys, who were the closest thing to a family he had left. He and Ginny were secretly engaged, since the parents thought that they were too young to make such a decision, though Ginny was fond of reminding Harry that her parents had married without the consent of their own parents, who had thought that Arthur was too poor to start a family. Harry’s Auror training was something of an open joke, and only consisted of him being shown the protocol of the Auror office and how the Aurors worked out of it, while the other Aurors hoped to learn as much as possible from him about defeating Dark Wizards. Harry had many demands on his time from his girlfriend, his friends and his work, but nothing interested him more than the welfare of his orphan godson.

At some point he noticed that Andromeda seemed to be more present, and he had hopes that she was starting to get over the worst of it. Then one afternoon over tea she said in a matter-of-fact tone, “You know Harry, I think we should try to find the Lupins.” Harry’s heart sank. So her spirits were improving because she had gone into denial about the fact that her daughter and son-in-law were dead. Though Harry had been called on to prove his manhood every year since he was eleven, it had been in a different arena, and he now felt he was being called on to take the responsibility of an adult in a way that he never had before. This was especially awkward because Andromeda was so much older than he was.

“Cousin Andromeda,” he said, for so he had taken to calling her, since he had considered Sirius as good as a father, “there is one Lupin, and you can easily find him, because he is in a crib in the next room. Your daughter and your son-in-law are inside of him. This is where they need you now.”

“No, no,” said Andromeda in the same matter-of-fact tone, “I mean Remus’s parents. I think they should know about their grandson.”

Harry was stunned, and then ashamed. He had never seen Lupin’s family, and never thought about them. He only remembered Lupin mentioning his parents briefly when talking about his childhood. “Yes, you’re absolutely right,” he said, “but how will we find them?”

“We could start with the records at Hogwarts. They keep a record of every student who ever attended, their dates, what house they were in, and their address at the time. They also keep contact information for alumni for as long as they want to keep in touch. Remus may have had brothers or sisters.”

Harry doubted it, because he thought it more likely that he would have seen relatives who were closer to Lupin’s age. If they were anything like Lupin, they would have been fighting Voldemort too. But he agreed that Hogwarts was the best place to start, and Andromeda sent an owl to McGonagall, who was now the headmistress, asking whether she could visit the school for this purpose.

The owl returned with a letter from McGonagall saying that she thought it was an excellent idea, and that she had already checked the records and found that there had been a Heather Lupin, a Ravenclaw, who had been nine years behind Remus, and whom she believed to be his sister. The alumni records showed that in 1990 she had married a Mr. Kevin Grey, who had been a Ravenclaw in the same year, and that their latest address was Seven Crescent Lane in Porkham, a mixed town in the midlands. McGonagall had searched back until she found another Lupin, who she believed might have been Remus’s father, for Lupin was not a common name, and she suspected that Remus’s family may have originated in France. In the alumni record, someone had written a note saying that this Lupin and his wife had both died in 1985.

Andromeda sent the owl back to thank McGonagall, and began composing a letter to Heather Lupin Grey. If she was indeed Remus’s sister, it would probably be heartbreaking to her to find out that her brother had turned up after being missing for so many years but was now dead, yet Andromeda thought it would probably be better to tell her this outright than to give her false hope only to dash it later. Andromeda wrote that if Mrs. Grey was Remus Lupin’s sister, Andromeda was a relative of hers by marriage, because Remus had met and married her daughter during the turbulence of the recent war, and that they had both been killed in the last battle of the war, but had been survived by their baby son, who was now in Andromeda’s care.

Andromeda dispatched her owl again, and it came back quickly with a letter from Mrs. Grey, on which Andromeda could see several tear stains which the writer had attempted to blot out. Heather Grey said that Remus was indeed her brother, and that she was astonished to hear that he had been alive all these years, because she had always thought that he had been killed in the First War, and that Andromeda must visit her as soon as possible and tell her everything. Andromeda arranged to come that Sunday, and leaving her grandson and her poor exhausted owl with Harry, set off on her broom for Porkham.

She soon arrived at the small white house of Kevin and Heather Lupin Grey and rang the bell. A petite and rather pretty but nervous-looking young woman answered it, and Andromeda saw the resemblance in her features at once. “Please come in,” said Mrs. Grey, and Andromeda entered the house.

It was a neat but cozy-looking house. There was a table beside the window in the main room on which had been placed a red and white checked cloth and a small crystal vase with what looked like a recently cut red rose. Andromeda looked out the window and saw a number of rose bushes, and also what looked like a vegetable garden. “Please, sit down,” said Mrs. Grey, indicating the table. “I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?”

“Yes, please.” Andromeda glanced into the kitchen and saw the other witch tap on the kettle with her wand, so it immediately boiled, and then pour the water into a china teapot. She returned to the table carrying a tray with the teapot, two cups, a small pitcher of milk, a sugar bowl, and a plate of scones.

Both women hesitated, unsure who should talk first and about what. Glancing around the room, Andromeda wondered whether the Greys had any children. If a child lived here, she thought, it was not a child like Nymfy. Considering how nervous the other woman seemed, Andromeda thought it might be best to make her acquaintance before launching into excruciatingly painful subjects.

“So you were a Ravenclaw, Mrs. Grey?”

“Please—call me Heather,” she said, smiling for the first time. “Yes, I was a Ravenclaw. Do you want to hear how it happened?”

Andromeda wondered whether this might be some sort of slip. “Well, we were all chosen, weren’t we? Although I think Dumbledore said that we really choose ourselves, and the hat recognizes our choice.”

“I think that was true in my case. The hat hesitated, because the rest of my family were Gryffindors, and these things tend to run in families. I thought maybe I should be a Gryffindor because I knew Remus had been one, and that he was very brave. But just a little earlier I had seen this cute grey-eyed boy sorted into Ravenclaw, and he looked up at me hopefully, as if he wanted to welcome me to their table. When the hat was on my head, hesitating, I remembered how on the train I had heard some of the older kids describe the trophies of the four houses. I thought I would rather have a clear head than a sword in my hand, and in that moment the hat called out, ‘Ravenclaw!’ I went and sat down next to Kevin, and we’ve been best friends ever since. I would have been shy, except he was so friendly.”

Andromeda smiled. “I’ve always been struck by how many graduates of Hogwarts marry their school sweethearts, but you may have set a record. I don’t think I’ve met anyone else who met their soul mate the night they arrived at the school.”

“We were not that much like the other Ravenclaws, so we always stuck together. Kevin was a Muggle-born wizard, and he was very clever but down-to-earth. To be perfectly honest, I don’t think the Ravenclaws were more intelligent or more clear-headed than anyone else in the school, just more—cerebral, or something. You know, we would always come back to the tower together, and the door would ask some airy fairy question like ‘Where do objects go when they disappear?’ and Kevin would give a smart answer like ‘I wish I knew that. I have more odd socks than matching ones.’ The door sometimes accepted mocking answers, because we were supposed to be witty, and if it gave us a hard time we would keep going back and forth, because there were two of us, and since we were learning from each other it eventually gave up and let us in.

“I always admired the Gryffindors, because they stood up most for what was right, but I knew the hat was right not to put me there, because I wouldn’t jump into danger the way they do. I always reflect before I act. But tell me about Remus,” she said, looking anxious again. “He disappeared soon after he left Hogwarts. We knew he was in some kind of partisan army that was fighting Voldemort. I wasn’t really surprised that he didn’t come back, because I knew he had some kind of mental disability.” Her voice had become shaky. “I know it was a good cause, but I thought it was cruel of them to send him into battle, knowing he had mental lapses. My parents never believed he was dead, because we never received an owl or a knock on the door. I thought they were in denial, because many witches and wizards disappeared or could not be identified. Could it be that they were right? War trauma probably made his condition worse. Had he forgotten where he came from?”

Andromeda thought the Wizarding World had no more use for lies. “Heather,” she said gently, “you don’t know what your brother’s disability was, do you?”

“No,” she sighed. “My parents said he was a sweet and clever boy, but that he sometimes had episodes when he forgot who he was and became dangerous to others. They said it was the result of an accident he had as a small child. I know they blamed themselves, because he had slipped away, and they thought they shouldn’t have let him out of their sight.”

“It was lycanthropy.”

Heather spoke in a barely audible whisper. “You mean Remus was… _a werewolf?”_

Andromeda nodded. She could only hope this news would not provoke shame or disgust. But she saw tears start from the other woman’s eyes.

“The poor thing! The poor thing! He must have been bitten! So that was his accident!”

Andromeda put a hand on her arm. “Heather, you know our society has done little to integrate werewolves, and you must understand that Remus was ashamed of being one. When he was young, he was unable to keep a job. He had no way of making sure he would not harm anyone. He thought it would be too hard on your parents, having a grown werewolf on their hands. But he and my daughter meant to try to find you all again when the war was over.”

“ _Hard_ on them? _Hard_ on them?” Her pity was turning to indignation. “They never got over their grief at his disappearance! They wore themselves out looking for him!”

Andromeda had become strangely dry-eyed since her daughter’s death. “The partisan army you mentioned was called the Order of the Phoenix and was led by Dumbledore. It regrouped when Voldemort came back, and Remus joined again. That was where he met my daughter. She fell in love with him and married him, knowing that he was a werewolf, and they had a baby who survived them. So you see, at least he had some happiness at the end of his life.”

“And your daughter—oh, what a terrible loss. Your daughter must have been a very special person. What did you call her?”

“I called her Nymfy and her father called her Dora, but she called herself Tonks.” Heather looked a bit confused. “I hope you will come and visit your nephew. It may be some compensation for all this loss.”

“Yes of course! Send me an owl when it’s convenient for you to have me—us? Can Kevin come too?”

“Of course,” said Andromeda, smiling. “Kevin is his uncle.”

***

Andromeda returned to find Harry leaning over Teddy’s crib, apparently dangling something on a string.

“Remus’s sister is a very nice woman,” she said. “She had known Remus had a mental disability, but not what it was, but when I told her, she was sorry for him. She would like very much to see her nephew.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Harry, but Andromeda was not sure he heard her, he was so engaged with the baby. She saw that it was a disk that he had suspended over the crib. No, a triangle. He kept touching it with his wand and changing the shape, saying the name of each shape to the baby. Then he kept changing its color, saying the names of all the colors. The baby made noises such as “ga,” “da,” and “goo.” When he had said “ga” on two different occasions when the object was purple, Harry turned to her excitedly.

“You see, Andromeda? He recognizes purple!”

“That means he’s a wizard,” said Andromeda cryptically.

***

In the weeks that followed, Harry’s hopes for Andromeda’s return to normalcy were dashed, for she seemed to be taken up by a new obsession. Indeed she was, for looking up the Lupins had sparked her interest in genealogy. Andromeda had begun to suspect that the Black family had protested too much about its purity of descent, because it had so protested more than any other family in the Wizarding World. Could a family really have survived from times “Most Ancient” while expelling so many of its members? Sirius had inherited despite his estrangement, since the family was patrilineal. If Sirius had lived and had been capable of marriage, he might have married anyone and had a son. Surely there had been some time of reproductive scarcity when there was no other heir but the child of a Black who had married a Muggle-born witch, or perhaps an illegitimate son whose paternity had been lied about. If it had passed through the female line, wouldn’t the name have died out? A wizard like Lucius Malfoy would still want his son to be a Malfoy. The odds were overwhelming, she thought, that at some time the child of a Muggle-born had been accepted into the family.

She thought it mattered, because if she could disprove it in the case of her father’s family, it might disprove the myth of pure-blood wizardry once and for all, and end this blight that had so long divided the Wizarding World. She knew the evidence would be difficult to find, because the family would have done their best to cover it up, but she knew where to start. She went searching through every document, letter and memoir she could sniff out at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Harry was very troubled to see her spending so much time at Twelve Grimmauld Place, because he did not think that it was a healthy place for anyone, least of all someone in Andromeda’s fragile emotional state. When she told him what her research was about, he agreed with her hypothesis, but did not think she would ever find the evidence. But since it was a matter concerning her own family, and considering their age difference, he did not think he could close the place to her or tell her what to do.

The night that Andromeda finally found incontrovertible evidence of what she was looking for, she knew the game was over, and felt like leaving it all behind her. She put on her old black robes and her old pointed black witch’s hat, mounted her broom, and flew off away from the city to a high hill from which she could look at the stars.

She lay down on the ground and gazed at the beautiful panoply of objects in the night sky. _Nature’s Nobility_ , she thought. As the night wore on, she looked for the namesakes of her relatives: Arcturus, Cygnus, Bellatrix, Sirius, Regulus…Andromeda? Had they given their children such names to try to exalt them above the rest? The antiquity of the stars made a mockery of her family’s claim to be “most ancient.” Their man-invented creed was against nature, because everything on earth was made of stardust, and the same blood flowed in the veins of all humans, wizard and Muggle alike. The Black family, in its quest for power or fear of the truth, had twisted the concepts of ancient, noble, nature, blood, and family. Her family was gone.

In the nights that followed, Andromeda flew to higher and higher elevations, farther from the lights of cities and towns, ever drawn by the night sky. Eventually she began to reach the highest elevations of the land, those of the mountains of the Scottish Highlands. One night some strange wind blew her through the mountains, toward a hidden shelf surrounded by forest. Andromeda could see light and movement there, and sensed that it was a magical place. As she flew closer she smelled delicious smells, and the noises started to resolve into talking. When she flew to the edge of the forest and parked her broom, she saw a strange and wonderful scene in the clearing.

The open area of the shelf in the mountainside was surrounded by beautifully carved wooden latticework, and through it she could see naked women and wolves, but the wolves were not attacking the women, they were walking among them, wagging their tails like dogs. There were two fires in the center of their space, on each of which was a ceramic cauldron from which the delicious smells were emanating. Then Andromeda saw something that astonished her. One of the women transformed into a wolf, and a little later, one of the wolves transformed into a woman. She realized these must be werewolves of some kind, and that, strangely enough, she had never before seen or heard of a female werewolf.

When she entered the clearing, they seemed friendly, but also very impressed.

“Are you a new Sorceress?” said one.

Andromeda was puzzled. “I’m a witch, but I’m not very new,” she said.

“You must be a guest of the Sorceresses, then.”

The werewolves looked no less impressed.

“I don’t think so. I don’t know who the Sorceresses are. They never contacted me.”

“No one down there knows who the Sorceresses are, except the male werewolves, who pretend not to. You wouldn’t have come if you weren’t invited.”

“Why don’t you join us for dinner?” said another werewolf. “We are just about to eat. It sounds as if the Sorceresses are arguing as usual.” She nodded toward the entrance of a nearby cave, from which a fainter light was emanating. When Andromeda listened she did hear the sound of female voices engaged in what sounded like some heated debate, though it did not sound rancorous. The werewolves made room for Andromeda to sit down on the ground, and one of them asked her whether she ate meat.

“What kind of meat?” she said a little nervously.

“Deer meat. There are many deer in this forest.”

Andromeda was relieved. “Yes, please,” she said, and the werewolf ladled some meat stew into a carved wooden bowl with a carved wooden ladle. Andromeda tasted it and found it was as delicious as it smelled.

“We also have a vegetarian stew, if you’d like to try that. We prefer meat, but the Sorceresses are mostly vegetarian, and they are teaching us to cook.”

Delicious as it was, Andromeda had difficulty eating much, for she was very nervous. When she finished her bowl she thanked the werewolves and, apparently noticing she had finished eating, one of the Sorceresses peered out of the cave and beckoned to her to join them.

Andromeda entered the cave and saw to her surprise that it had a high ceiling as round and smooth as a bowl, painted in beautiful colors with an abstract design. The faint light was emanating from a nebulous ball in the center of the floor. Most of the Sorceresses were sitting in a circle, dressed in what looked like deeply dyed cotton cloths of different colors, simply wrapped around them. There was one, however, who looked very ancient and was sitting on a ledge of rock that served as a bench, wearing an embroidered robe.

“Welcome, Andromeda,” said a Sorceress to the elder one’s left, who, unlike the others, was standing. She had long silvery hair that looked to Andromeda to be something between platinum blonde and white, and Andromeda could not guess her age. “I am Clara,” she said.

“I am Dara,” said a short-haired one, turning to Andromeda with a friendly look.

“I am Mara,” said the dark-haired woman next to her in a more portentous tone.

“I am Sara,” said one with long soft brown hair, whom somehow Andromeda had not noticed.

“I am Bonita,” said a small roly-poly black-haired one, who Andromeda suspected was the youngest.

“I am Talachawinga,” said the elderly woman on the bench in a commanding voice. “We are the Sorceresses.”

“We give ourselves similar names, to avoid confusion,” said Bonita helpfully.

“But we are not all the Sorceresses,” protested Dara. “Some Sorceresses are out raining and stuff.”

Andromeda was baffled. “But—who are you? How do you know my name? I’ve never heard of you.”

“You haven’t heard of us because they don’t want you to hear of us,” said Mara.

“Who doesn’t want me to hear of you?”

“The powers that be,” said Mara ominously.

“To be fair, Mara, we also have kept out of touch,” said Sara.

“When have they ever been fair to us? What would happen if we got in touch?”

“It probably would not work yet,” agreed Clara, “but some of them are realizing that they must change their ways if humans are to survive at all, and more are realizing it every day.”

“They are not the ones who have power,” said Mara.

“They have power in numbers,” said Dara. “The women are rising. I am very optimistic.”

Andromeda was beginning to wonder whether her questions would ever be answered, but Clara was looking at her as if knowing what she was thinking.

“We have invited you here for three reasons: because you seek the truth, because you need to heal a great grief, and because your daughter married a werewolf. You are not the only witch who seeks the truth, but you have recently made a bold step in that direction. You are not the only one, after the recent war, who needs to heal a great grief. But to our knowledge, your daughter is the only witch who ever knowingly married a werewolf.”

“But how did you know?” said Andromeda incredulously.

“We can see and hear what goes on in a specific place down there, but only if we know exactly where to look. We located the headquarters of Dumbledore’s army, because we were interested in the progress of the war. That was where we saw what happened between Remus and your daughter. You see,” she said, indicating the mouth of the cave, “we have a particular interest in the werewolves.”

Andromeda had so many questions that she felt overwhelmed, but Clara still seemed to be reading her thoughts, and she continued.

“We are witches who withdrew from the Wizarding World long ago, because we did not agree with the rule of wizards, and they would not listen to us. They talk of equality and give witches many opportunities, but only within a framework created mostly by men, who cannot give up a compulsion for dominance. If we had had as much influence as powerful wizards, the Wizarding World might not have been reduced to the alternatives of separation from Muggles or domination over them.

“There was a time long ago when witches and wizards were accepted among Muggles. There was a time when male werewolves were like these,” she said, indicating the mouth of the cave again, “and they were accepted by other humans. Humans were closer to other animals then, and many witches and wizards were Animagi. We claimed that such things could still be possible. We called for tolerance, but powerful forces were arrayed against us. You see, all witches and wizards were originally descended from Muggles, for the first humans were Muggles. But you know there were powerful wizards who would see such knowledge as a threat to their power. Did they teach you all this at school? What was the subject everyone slept through at school?”

“History of Magic,” said Andromeda, with a dawning comprehension. But surely the things Clara spoke of were prehistoric.

“They make it boring on purpose, because they don’t want the students to get too many ideas. If they knew that things have been radically different in the past, they would know that they can be radically different in the future. History can teach people that there is nothing natural or immutable about the way things are. We have been left out of the books, but our knowledge has been passed through the ages. There are witches who lived for hundreds of years, whose voices were not recorded. Talachawinga is almost four hundred years old.”

Andromeda looked at Talachawinga in astonishment, and then, looking around, she suspected that all of them were much older than they looked.

“We eat a very healthy diet, and the mountain air agrees with us,” said Clara with a slight smile. Andromeda had begun to suspect that Clara was a Legilimens. Then another thought struck her.

“Are you all Animagi?” she asked.

“Bonita and I are werewolves who became Sorceresses,” said Dara. “When female werewolves reach a certain age, we stop transforming automatically, though we can still transform at will. The other Sorceresses are Animagi, but we all prefer transforming into storm clouds.”

“You can transform into storm clouds?” said Andromeda in wonder, though she remembered the statement about raining.

“Andromeda, we have long been developing magic that is different from what they do in the Wizarding World,” said Clara. “We sometimes transform into clouds that rain and snow and even send down lightning, but we do not harm anyone.”

“We only do it to vent,” said Dara.

“What do you mean?” said Mara. “We will send down a mudslide if an unwanted visitor approaches.”

“This place is enchanted so no one can find us anyway,” said Clara a little impatiently.

“I always liked to rain on Hogsmeade and watch the little witches and wizards scurry for cover in the inns and the tea shop,” said Bonita. “But Talachawinga,” she said in a hushed tone, “Talachawinga transforms into a mist and sinks into Loch Ness, where she transforms into a big reptilian sea creature. She’s been doing that for hundreds of years.”

Andromeda had been thinking. “I do remember learning that there was a time when witches and wizards were tolerated among Muggles. Not everything you say has been hushed up. And with the defeat of Voldemort, the creed of pure-blood supremacy has been discredited, and there is an opening for change. Are you so sure you won’t be listened to now? Aren’t you choosing to keep to yourselves?”

“Unfortunately, wizards are afraid of us,” said Clara sadly. “They have not yet gotten over the idea that if witches challenge their domination, we are seeking to dominate them. If we come down now they will be very frightened, and try to fight with us. We do not want to make a scene.”

“We know it is a very good sign that they defeated Voldemort,” said Dara. “It shows that they are headed in the right direction. More and more of them will see the truth, and they will want us back. I am very optimistic.”

“A few years under Voldemort might have shown them the error of their ways,” said Mara. “They have not yet admitted it was the rule of men that took them there.”

“At what cost of innocent lives?” said Andromeda, who was suddenly angry. “My husband and my daughter were killed in that war! None of us even knew you existed! Why didn’t you help us?”

Clara and Dara looked and Mara reproachfully, and then Clara spoke.

“We are not goddesses, Andromeda. We do not decide who lives and dies down there. Even if we had landed a fatal thunderbolt on Voldemort, we did not know where his Horcruxes were, and he might have come back again. Lightning jumps, and if we had tried to hit your daughter’s assailant, we might have hit her by mistake. Whom would it have helped if we had rained on the whole parade? The magic we have developed is not of the warring kind. The Wizarding World needed to solve a problem that they themselves created. There is yet another one with which we could not help them. We could never abide the government’s use of dementors.”

“Neither could Remus,” said Andromeda in surprise. “Neither could Dumbledore!”

“They are using dementors to guard their prison again, as if they didn’t learn anything from the war,” said Sara. “They always said it was the only way they could control Dark Wizards. I once suggested that they try to find out why wizards went bad in the first place, instead of locking them up under conditions that made them worse, and they said I was soft on crime.”

“Ah, Dumbledore,” said Clara. “We think Dumbledore would have been glad to have us there, for he was willing to learn from his mistakes, and was open-minded towards those who were different. We wish more of them were like him. But we thought it would put too great a burden on him to ask for his help, because he had a hard time down there as it was. Other wizards would likely have thought he was using us to try to gain power for himself, or vice versa. We thought he was a force for good down there and didn’t want to be the death of him.”

“I think Dumbledore asked unreasonable sacrifices of people,” said Dara. “Of Remus, of the Potions master, and especially of that boy wizard. He asked them to do things he wouldn’t do himself.”

“I hope he knew that boy would survive,” said Clara, looking troubled. “We do not believe in human sacrifice.”

“Not of the innocent,” said Mara, “but in the days of Dionysus—”

“When none of us were around—” said Dara mockingly.

“We would sacrifice a ruler who did not acknowledge our power. We tore Pentheus—”

“Mara, spare us.”

“Andromeda,” said Clara, looking at her, “we will come down when they want us back, and I believe that time will come. But we will come down in the last extremity whether they want us back or not. We cannot allow the human race to be destroyed, or the earth to become uninhabitable, because it is our home too. We are not so powerful that we can fly to another planet and create our own atmosphere.”

“It already is the last extremity,” said Sara. “Do you know what is happening to the oceans? Do you know what is happening to the atmosphere? But if we go down it will make things worse, because many Muggles have strange beliefs about the end of the world and will think we are fulfilling them. They will destroy themselves even faster.”

“It will be terrible!” said Mara, who, unlike the others, seemed to relish this prospect. “We will descend upon them like the furies of old!”

“We might as well just enjoy what life we have left up here,” said Sara.

“Wait a minute, Sara,” said Dara. “Just follow me for just a minute. As witches see what is happening, more and more of them will join us, and we will have enough weather to stave off catastrophe until things change. The world will change. Women are rising.”

“We’re talking about Muggles,” said Sara. “We can’t join with Muggle women, because most of them don’t believe in magic, and Muggles will be confused and terrified, and it will only make a mess.”

“Muggle women have more in common with witches than with men,” said Mara. “In the final drama, they will answer our call.”

“It will not make a mess,” said Clara, “if we are open to working with anyone who can be open to the truth.”

_The Sorceresses are arguing as usual_ , thought Andromeda, who suddenly felt very sleepy. She suspected these were the sorts of arguments they had every night.

“Andromeda, you’ve had a long day,” said Clara. “We’ve made a bed for you in the next room.” She showed Andromeda an opening to a small room off the main room of the cave. Andromeda stepped inside and there was a pleasant smell, and she found it was coming from a mattress that had been stuffed with dried plants, probably including some of their cooking herbs. She was about to lie down when she noticed a faint white light emanating from a crack on the other side of her little room. She followed it and found it was an opening to another room with a high domed ceiling, though not as large the first room. Little girls and wolf cubs were sleeping there, and the faint light came from a unicorn who was patrolling among them, seemingly keeping watch. The ceiling was painted blue, lighter around the rim, and deepening to a very dark blue at the top, and was set with twinkling stars. Andromeda lay down on her own bed, where a thick blanket had been left for her. The blanket was surprisingly soft and supple for its weight, and had a warmth of its own, and she realized it had been enchanted.

***

The next morning the werewolves were going hunting, women and wolves together, and they invited Andromeda to join them, but she politely declined. Her morning with the Sorceresses was not dull, however, for they had many things to show her. Bonita babysat the young ones, which she said was her favorite activity, while the others showed her some of their magic and crafts.

They showed her edible plants they cultivated from magical modifications of local plants, including the herbs that made their cooking so delicious. Clara said the herbs were also medicinal, which was one of the reasons for their longevity. They took her through the forest, which was full of red deer, but Andromeda also saw a couple of unicorns, and felt a pang of worry when she thought of the hunting werewolves. “Don’t worry,” said Clara, “they take care not to hurt the unicorns.”

They reached a streambed from which Dara said they extracted the clay for their pottery. “We put it on a stone slab and set it spinning with our wands, and then we move a wand slowly up or down it as it spins, and make it into pots and bowls. You saw the domed ceilings in the caves? Those are big inverted bowls.”

Last came the cooking lesson. “Cooking is our most practiced art,” said Sara, “because we eat every day.”

After lunch the Sorceresses led her back into the main cave, and sat in a circle again, looking very serious. Andromeda noticed that Talachawinga was still sitting on her ledge, and wondered whether she had moved since the previous evening. After a moment of silence, Clara spoke.

“Andromeda,” she said, “it is time to answer your question.”

Andromeda was not sure which question this was, but she did feel that the thing she was most interested in had not yet been discussed.

“You want to know about the werewolves, and where your son-in-law came from.”

“He was a little boy who was bitten by a werewolf,” said Andromeda sadly. “Isn’t that where all werewolves come from?”

“They do now, but it was not always that way. Hundreds of years ago the females such as you see here lived, hunted, and mated with the males, and they had werewolf cubs. They did not attack humans, because they knew they were humans themselves.”

“How did that change?” said Andromeda in amazement.

“The curse,” said the others in a chorus.

“But who cursed them? Why?”

“The males brought it on themselves,” said Mara. “They offended Artemis, goddess of the moon and of the hunt, and protector of the little ones.”

“This Muggle mythology is not literally true, Mara,” said Clara. “It is only metaphorical.”

“You underrate its power,” said Mara. “Our ancestors, witch and Muggle too, knew the goddess in many forms.”

“It was only some of the males who started it,” said Dara, “but it began a downward spiral that no one knew how to stop.”

“You see, the male werewolves were solitary hunters, and would sometimes abandon their cubs and their mates,” said Clara. “The females always wanted their young to be protected, so they sometimes sought refuge among the wolves, who were social, or in the world of other humans. But the tolerance of other humans came to an end, for without the influence of the females, some of the males would hunt humans, and a few of them had the trait that their bite would turn other humans into werewolves. The werewolves created through the bite retained this trait, and the males who were bitten could no longer control their attacking of humans. The bitten males also had another strange trait: they transformed only at the full moon.

“Of course the biting males sometimes bit women and girls too, but the condition did not affect them the same way. They did become werewolves, and their bite could make other humans into werewolves, but they did not have the associated dementia that made them want to attack humans when they were transformed, nor did they transform only at the full moon.

“All werewolves became shunned by human society, and the females usually sought protection among the wolves, but soon they were shunned by the wolves as well, for humans had become the enemy of wolves, and werewolves were often in their human state. The first Sorceresses took the female werewolves under their protection, and they have been with us ever since. Our owls and bats watch and listen at the full moon, and report to us if a woman or girl is attacked by a werewolf, and out goes a storm cloud, which transforms into a Sorceress and brings her to join the others. If it isn’t too late. If she escaped with just a bite. We know how to make branches into brooms.”

“But why should they go with you?” asked Andromeda, bewildered. “Why should they trust a stranger? What about their families?”

“That is the most troubling part,” said Clara, “but women know what it means to be bitten by a werewolf. Many werewolves are shunned by their families. The transformations of the females are unpredictable, and their bite can still transform other people into werewolves. Other humans might kill them. Their families, if they kept them, would seclude them. They would want to be with the male werewolves, who would attack them at the full moon, if they did not happen to be in their wolf state. Humans have never taken responsibility for the bitten among them, but alienated them as monsters, and they have paid a high price for it. When our new friends come they miss their families at first, but we surround them with love, and eventually they heal.”

“But the male werewolves—they do not heal?”

“We never knew how to break the curse. The poor things pretend they care nothing for females or families, because it is something they cannot have. They do not even have such relationships amongst themselves, as we do, because social pressure is very strong with them, and they are afraid of conflicts with each other or of emotional attachments. They pretend they like to be werewolves and to hunt humans, because it is something they cannot control. But from the time Remus Lupin came here, we knew he was different.”

“Remus came _here_?” said Andromeda in complete astonishment.

“We keep watch over this whole area. There is a forest near the coast north of here that we keep hidden from humans, because the last wolf pack in Britain is there, and they are also under our protection. They think they have survived because they are so clever, but in fact we have enchanted their forest so that humans cannot find it.

“One full moon a wizard Apparated on a ledge on the rocky coast, and he immediately transformed, so we knew he was a werewolf. But he let out such a howl of loneliness and despair as we have never heard from a werewolf, for male werewolves do not express their feelings in such a manner. He was wounded, and he rested on the rock, but then he made his way across the heath and into our forest. Since he was in his wolf state, it was not hidden from him. We saw him encounter the wolves, and heard their conversation. We heard him offer his life on the chance of being accepted into a wolf pack. He would not have done that if he did not know he wanted a family, or if he had had no hope at all. It was the reverse of what had happened ages ago, and we began to hope what we had long given up hoping: that it might be the beginning of the end of the curse.”

“But—Remus never told us any of this!” But even as she spoke, Andromeda remembered that her daughter had told her that Remus never remembered what he did in his wolf state. She also remembered that for years he had Apparated to Scotland before his transformation.

“We did not know where he went after he transformed back, because we cannot track a Disapparition. But to our joy and relief he returned at the next full moon, and we no longer hid the forest from him in his human state either, because he had been accepted into the wolf pack, and we wanted him to keep coming back. We wanted him to know, however, that it was not safe to bring other humans there, and as always we kept our presence mysterious.

“Then one year he suddenly disappeared for a whole year, and we feared the worst, but he came back. But when he came back, the wolves no longer trusted him, for as in the beginning, he could not explain where he had been. He would leave offerings of dead prey here and there for the wolves, and they thought it might be a trap, but eventually the alpha female convinced them to take him back.

“Then Voldemort came back, and it was war again, and we began watching the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and who should show up there? Remus Lupin! We were so proud. Not only was he accepted by the other wizards, but your daughter fell in love with him! Had he been accepted before, and was he different from the other werewolves for that reason, or was he accepted because he was different? In the end it would not matter.”

“I think it was both,” said Andromeda. “He had more of a chance than most werewolves ever had, but he was a very special person. Dumbledore must have realized he was a nice boy when he admitted him to the school.”

“Yes, we got wind of the fact that he went to Hogwarts, and even more surprisingly, that he taught there!” said Dara.

“In that connection, we got wind of something else, and what had been a tentative hope became a near certainty to me,” said Clara. “We listened to him talk to your daughter, and we heard that the year he taught at the school he had a potion that made his transformations harmless. We did not know about the Wolfsbane Potion until we heard about it from your daughter and your son. They wanted to try to get it again, but Remus thought the Potions master would do nothing for him, although he had made the potion when Remus was at the school. We heard your daughter say she would write to him herself, and we kept an eye out for the Potions master to see what he would do. We began to spy on Dumbledore’s office at Hogwarts, though in the past we had not thought it was our business.

“One day a few weeks later a pale dark-haired man showed up in the office and immediately began talking about the Wolfsbane Potion, and we realized it must be the Potions master.”

“Severus, Dumbledore called him, and so did Remus,” said Dara.

“Severus had a very interesting story,” continued Clara. “He was an undercover agent pretending to work for Voldemort, and Voldemort trusted him, although we could see he obviously worked for Dumbledore. He wanted very much to make the potion for Remus, but there was a particular problem. Voldemort had guarded the places from which fresh ingredients needed to be gathered for the potion, because he wanted to make sure no one made the potion, because he thought the werewolves were part of his strategy. He was trying to bait them with prey, thinking he would gain their support that way, though eventually he planned to kill them all. He was afraid that if anyone made the potion its use might spread, and the werewolves might stop hunting.

“We heard that the ingredients were very difficult and dangerous to gather anyway, and now Voldemort was also guarding them with Dark Magic, but Severus knew a lot about Dark Magic. Since Voldemort trusted him, Severus asked Voldemort how these places were guarded, and offered to examine them himself, supposedly to make sure that they were well enough guarded. This was plausible enough to Voldemort, since the Potions master was an expert on gathering the ingredients. So Severus checked out the Dark Magic at these locations, and found out exactly how it could be breached.

“Now Severus and Dumbledore agreed that if Severus stole the ingredients it would probably blow his cover, but Severus thought that perhaps Dumbledore could steal the ingredients himself, because Dumbledore was such a powerful wizard that it might be plausible that he had figured out himself how to do it. But Dumbledore said there was still too great a chance of blowing the Potion master’s cover, because Severus knew so much more than anyone about how to get to the ingredients, and since he was a double agent, there were already followers of Voldemort who suspected him of disloyalty. And then we heard the strangest thing.

“The Potions master demanded that Dumbledore promise that he would never let Remus know that he had done his best for Remus. Dumbledore should never tell Remus, or anyone who would tell Remus, that he had risked his life particularly for Remus. This made no sense. If that would have blown his cover, Dumbledore would not have done it anyway, but why would it have blown his cover? Even if Voldemort had tried using his famous _Legilimancy_ on Remus,”—Andromeda noticed the contempt with which she spoke the word—“which he would not have bothered to do, since in his view Remus was only a werewolf, what would he have found out? That Remus thought that the Potions master had tried, but not been able to make the potion? That would not have told Voldemort anything, except that Severus was playing his part well, since the wizards in Dumbledore’s army considered him to be one of them.

“We gathered that at some time there had been some bad feelings between Remus and the Potions master, but we knew that if Remus had known what had recently happened, he would have forgiven everything. He was a gentle and forgiving person, and he would have been happy for a reconciliation anyway. He was not like his friend, that other wizard who was killed earlier—”

“Sirius?” said Andromeda, turning a little pink.

“Yes, Sirius hated Severus, but Remus did not. There had been some misunderstanding that Severus was determined to perpetuate. He would risk his life for Remus, but not say a kind word to him. What kind of crazy pride was this?”

“The Potions master was a strange man, and very difficult to read,” said Sara. _As if I needed Sorceresses to tell me that_ , thought Andromeda.

“We knew that Voldemort would lose the war, and that sometime after that, the potion would become available to the werewolves,” continued Clara, “but a potion alone cannot break a curse. It would take a change of heart among the werewolves. As it was, they would think the wizards were trying to poison them, or at least take away what power they had by making them harmless. They would not imagine that other humans wanted to include them in their society as equals, let alone to marry them. Not if it hadn’t been for the marriage of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks.

“The werewolves will find out about this union, and find out that the surviving child is not a werewolf, because they keep an eye out for their own, and some of them will stop hiding from themselves that they want to have human relationships with other humans. Some will try the potion, whatever they tell their peers, and a few more witches and wizards will fall in love with werewolves, and it will be a cycle of life that will reverse the cycle of death that started so long ago. The werewolves will see that those who have families and jobs have better lives, and the others will see that the werewolves are humans like themselves, and judge them by their characters, not for being werewolves. They will have children, and their children will not be werewolves. Eventually the biting will stop, and eventually there will be no more werewolves.”

A thought struck Andromeda as her eye rested on the mouth of the cave. “But what about these?” she said, gesturing in the direction of the werewolves.

Clara smiled. “They will either become Sorceresses or die a natural death. Eventually, when the biting stops, no more female werewolves will be created either. It will be the end of the werewolves.”

“The end in this era,” said Talachawinga. “In another era they may come back and be as they once were.”

“If humanity could survive until another era,” said Sara.

_Oh no_ , thought Andromeda, _they’re not going to start that again._ But Clara had turned to Andromeda again.

“The outcome was still uncertain when your son and daughter were wed, because Remus had not yet accepted the idea that he could father a child. When your daughter became pregnant by him, he tried to run away.”

“No!” said Andromeda indignantly. “That’s impossible!”

“He did not stay away for long, and I am not surprised that they hid it from you. But he showed up at Order headquarters, very agitated, telling the boy wizard and his friends that he should not reproduce, although he had already done it. Like the werewolves of old, he tried to abandon his cub and his mate. Our hearts sank, for we knew the curse was still upon him. He asked to join the young ones in their mission, because Dumbledore had entrusted them with the most important mission in the war against Voldemort. But the orphan boy called him a coward, and he soon came to his senses. In his wolf state, he had risked everything to have a family. In his human state it took him longer, because as a human he had learned to hide from rejection and social stigma, but his hope finally won out over his fear.

“We watched your house when he returned to your daughter. He told her everything and asked her forgiveness. He offered himself unconditionally to his family. He offered to do something he had never been able to do for himself: to stand up to other humans for his right to live among them as an equal, at whatever cost in possible rejection or humiliation. What he could never face for himself, he would need to face for the sake of his family. He finally found the will to do _whatever it took_ to be a husband and father.

“When Remus asked forgiveness for himself, he did not know that he was asking forgiveness for those male werewolves who long ago had begun the downward spiral by abandoning their cubs and their mates. But he asked, and was forgiven, and so Remus Lupin broke the curse.”

“No!” thundered Talachawinga from her bench, and all eyes turned to her. “It was Nymphadora Tonks who broke the curse! Her love for Remus broke the curse!”

“Nymfy broke the curse?” said Andromeda in a small voice. She had always believed her daughter capable of almost anything, but this was starting to sound like a fairy tale.

“We are proud of you, and proud to have you as our guest,” said Clara. “You must be a very special witch, to have raised such a daughter.”

“A powerful witch,” said Dara.

“A wonderful witch,” said Bonita.

“No! I am not powerful or wonderful! I am just an ordinary witch!” And suddenly the source of her grief reached the surface of Andromeda, and suddenly the tears came. “She thought I was not afraid for her when she married Remus, but I was, and he loved her and wanted to protect her. She thought I had never cared about being expelled from the family of my birth, but I did, and they were evil and wanted to kill her. She was so much braver and cleverer and better than I was. _Why_ should I have outlived her? _Why? Why? Why?_ ”

Andromeda was on her knees and seemed to be desperately imploring the Sorceresses for their understanding.

“They were my sisters…I used to play with them when we were little…I was always afraid of Bella, but she was my sister…my sister tried to kill my daughter…my sister wanted my daughter dead, wanted her husband dead, wanted my grandson dead…my sister’s husband wanted my husband dead…my sister’s husband killed my husband, killed my daughter, killed her husband…my love went into hiding and I could not go with him…my love is dead and my sister’s husband lives…my sister killed my cousin…my sister tried to kill her niece…my family killed my family…I used to play with them when we were little…my…family…is…dead.”

Andromeda did not know for how long she wept, for she had lost all sense of time. But eventually a very soft shower passed over her, washing away her tears, and she knew it was Bonita. And then a gentle warm breeze dried her, and she knew it was Dara. And then something warm and light seemed to radiate through her, and she knew it was Clara. When she looked up, she faced Talachawinga, still sitting on her stone ledge, illuminated by the same white light that Andromeda had seen the previous evening, and she thought it must be evening again.

“Andromeda Tonks, your family is not dead. Your grandson is sleeping in a house ever friendly to children, built for that purpose on a pigsty in a town on the other end of this island. He is well taken care of, but they anxiously await your return. You are of their world, not of ours.” Talachawinga produced Andromeda’s broom. “Take your broom, Andromeda. The moon is risen. The moon is full. It is time for you to return to them.”

Andromeda took her broom and embraced them all, except Talachawinga, whom she dared not touch. She kicked off from the side of the mountain and flew between the earth and the moon, which had a yellowish tinge that night, and seemed reassuringly nearby and familiar after all her gazing at the cold light of the distant stars. She continued to fly in front of the moon as seen from the ground for most of the night, and anyone looking up from the ground in England that night could see a classic image of a witch in a pointed hat riding on a broomstick, silhouetted black against the full moon. A few witches and wizards looked up and chuckled, because they knew that a witch was having some fun.

Many Muggles also looked up and saw this image, for that night the full moon fell on the 31st of October, and many people were out at night. Some were frightened, but most were delighted, and wondered how on earth anyone was pulling off such a brilliant prank as to make the thing appear. They knew that with modern technology, almost anything was possible, but anyone with such a mastery of it truly deserved to be called a wizard.

As Andromeda flew, she felt an abyss beneath her, but had a sense of finality as she steered her broom toward Ottery St. Catchpole. The male werewolves would marry witches, or possibly wizards, obtain the potion, be assimilated. The female werewolves would become Sorceresses, and eventually be no more. But from the abyss she felt the memory of lost generations, the generations of male werewolves who had suffered under the curse, pretending all their lives that they did not want what they could not have; and she felt that the generations of female werewolves gone, who had written off their male counterparts because they had abandoned their cubs and their mates, would never know that they had lost a brother.


	9. The Wolfsbane Potion

The new Ministry reclassified the Wolfsbane Potion as an essential medical potion, but it did not become available for years, due to the near bankruptcy of the Ministry and the tragic loss to Hogwarts of the most skilled potion-maker in Britain, whose true allegiance was discovered only after his death. But when the new Potions master, Professor Brewster, arrived at Hogwarts, McGonagall opened to him the office that Snape had always kept under lock and key even when his job at the school had changed, and Brewster immediately realized that Snape’s old office was a treasure trove of rare ingredients and documents and that it would be a crime to cast them aside without examination in order to make room for his own stuff. He asked the headmistress for a small office across from Snape’s old one, from where he spent many evenings culling through everything his predecessor had left behind.

Brewster had loved mixing potions ever since he was a boy, and his boyish enthusiasm for it had never really changed. He loved to watch the changes in color and texture as he added ingredients, and was always very excited if he made one for the first time, watching in triumph as each stage turned out as predicted by the recipe. If a step went wrong, he had even more satisfaction if he could pin down the reason, and sometimes unexpected turns led him to develop new potions of his own, though they seldom served any useful purpose. He sometimes jumped up and down with excitement at his results, but this he did not want anyone to see, for he was afraid he would look like a little boy to his colleagues, and they would not take him seriously. He commandeered a Hogwarts dungeon equipped with fires and cauldrons, where outside of teaching, he could practice his potions making in private. There or in class he never wore robes but always an old tweed jacket, because he thought that robes might catch fire, and that their sleeves could fall into potions.

Brewster found that Snape had made many handwritten annotations to potions instructions written by others, as well as having written up original instructions of his own. He soon found that Snape’s instructions, when followed, often provided shortcuts or made the making of potions more accurate, and he came to have a great deal of respect for his predecessor. He did notice that Snape had an unusually large collection of material on the Dark Arts for a Potions master, but he attributed that to the fact that Snape had been an undercover agent pretending to work for Voldemort.

Sometimes in his class Brewster would write Snape’s instructions to the side or at the end of the traditional instructions for the classic potions, with a heading such as “Professor Snape recommends,” because he wanted to give credit where it was due. Brewster, who was always very down-to-earth and even-handed with his students, might have been shocked had he known of his esteemed predecessor’s behavior in the classroom, but he did hear enough to gather that the former Potions master had been a rather odd man.

It was a favorite pastime of the older students, those who could remember him, to argue endlessly about Snape. They discussed everything they or anyone they knew had ever seen Snape do or heard him say, when he did it or said it, what it had really meant, and if and when anyone had realized what it meant. Brewster imagined that as fewer students remained at the school who could remember the man, these discussions would subside at Hogwarts, although many students were so intensely absorbed in them that he thought they might carry them on into their adult lives. But at the school the younger kids were coming up with something he thought would prove a more lasting legacy: they were developing a strategic spy game called “Severus Snape.”

Two teams would compete to achieve the same objective, with one kid playing Snape. Snape would participate in the strategizing of both teams, but no one except Snape would know which team Snape was on. The player would write down his or her choice in a secure place after the teams were chosen but before the game started, so Snape could not change sides. Either team could call the game at any time by hazarding a guess as to which side Snape was on, and if they guessed right they would win, and if wrong they would lose. Snape had an incentive to help his or her team win, because in that case he or she got to be Snape again, and it was great fun to be Snape. If the kid was too obvious, either by choosing the team with more of her friends on it, or obviously giving the most help to his team, that team might lose, because the other team might guess correctly, but it might be a ruse, because Snape could be acting as a double agent. The strategic possibilities were endless. The game ended when one team achieved the objective, or when either team made a guess as to which side Snape was on.

This game transcended inter-house rivalries, because the teams wanted to make use of all types of strengths, and did not compete by house. They could use any means to achieve their ends, as long as they did not harm anyone, which was good enough for the younger Slytherins, who were proud of the game because Snape had been a Slytherin. They could use courage, which pleased the Gryffindors, wit, which pleased the Ravenclaws, or diligence, which pleased the Hufflepuffs. And for many years after on the Hogwarts grounds, when the younger kids got tired of trying to make the expected things happen with their wands, or were in the mood for something more collaborative and strategic, and for getting to know kids in other houses, one of them could sometimes be heard to raise the cry of “Let’s play Severus Snape!”

***

The night that Brewster was poring through a pile of papers from one of the drawers in Snape’s old desk and found a copy of the original recipe for the Wolfsbane Potion, full of handwritten notes in the margins, his heart pounded, because he knew how difficult it had been for anyone to learn the potion, and he realized that Snape’s notes might provide a real breakthrough. He knew that between his collection and Snape’s, they had all the ingredients for the potion that did not need to be gathered fresh, but that there were three that needed to be gathered within a few months of use from different places at the full moon. Brewster was very eager to try making the potion, but he knew there was no telling how long it might take the Ministry to come up with the money to hire anyone to collect the ingredients. If it was going to be made differently, it would take even longer, because it would technically be a new potion, and he doubted whether anyone else would have as much confidence as he did in Snape’s instructions. Brewster could not wait for that. If he made the potion, he could present the evidence. He decided to gather the ingredients himself.

The ingredients were dangerous to obtain, which was the main reason they had always been expensive. One of them, blueworms, lived in the soil under or near Devil’s Snare, one of the most dangerous magical plants, but Brewster, being a Potions man, knew his Herbology well, and was good enough with fire charms to make it worth the risk. Wolfsbane itself was poisonous and needed to be handled carefully, but that would be the least of his problems. Another plant was needed that grew only in forests frequented by werewolves. He planned to arrive there just after moonrise, when few werewolves would have yet wandered deep into the forest, and he would circle above with his broom to see that nothing was moving there before making a dive for it. So in the months that followed, Brewster quietly took his broom and his life in his hands and successfully gathered the ingredients.

The night that he secretly took everything down to his dungeon to try making the potion, he was almost breathless with excitement. He followed Snape’s instructions to the letter, and his excitement grew as at every stage it looked, stirred and smelled just as it was supposed to. When he was finished, and it looked and smelled just as predicted, his heart was pounding as he dipped a ladle in to taste it. It had the uniquely unpleasant taste described in the recipe, and he did not grimace but jumped for joy, for he was sure he had done it. He would take a sample to the apothecary on Diagon Alley and one to St. Mungo’s, where there might even be one or two recently bitten werewolves willing to try it.

He was met at St. Mungo’s by a plant and potions poisoning expert who was screening new medicinal potions for clinical trials. Brewster could see that the Healer was as eager and excited as he himself had been when he had first found the recipe for the potion.

“Is this it, Professor Brewster?” said the Healer as Brewster handed him a stoppered flask. The Healer uncorked the flask and waved the unpleasant-smelling thing under his nose with an approving expression, as if he were assessing the bouquet of some fine wine. “Smells like it, alright.” And then, much to Brewster’s surprise, he took out a spoon, poured out a spoonful of the potion and swallowed it, and without a grimace he jumped up and down with excitement. “That’s it! That’s it! That’s just how I remember it! We need to start the clinical trial at once. I’ll be the first to volunteer for it, so the werewolves know it isn’t poison.”

“But sir,” protested Brewster, “I’m not at all sure it’s safe for humans. As far as I know, only werewolves have ever taken it.”

“You have quite mistaken the matter, sir,” said the Healer airily, and Brewster had a feeling he was being mocked. “We need to conduct a clinical trial for an essential medical potion so that it can be made available to humans with a serious medical condition. Since these _humans_ have usually been treated as less than such by our society, they are not likely to trust us if we ask them to swallow something we do not dare to ingest ourselves. They may think we are experimenting on them for our own purposes, or worse. We need as many volunteers as possible to make this trial conclusive and convincing.”

Brewster, who had always taken the matter very seriously, thought it a bit much to be given such a holier-than-thou speech in response to one ill-chosen word, and he made to go, when the Healer arrested him with a question.

“But tell me, Brewster, where did you get the ingredients? Has the Ministry finally hired someone to start collecting them?”

“I collected them myself. I’ve always found Professor Snape’s notes to be very helpful, and when I found this recipe with his notes, I was so—I knew it might be a breakthrough, because this potion has been very difficult for witches and wizards to learn in the past. I flew myself to gather the ingredients, because I couldn’t wait—for the Ministry, they’re so slow.”

When he glanced back at the Healer, the other wizard’s demeanor had changed again, and he was regarding Brewster with such a look of camaraderie in his warm brown eyes that Brewster suddenly realized that this wizard understood him better than most did. He remembered how the Healer had jumped for joy on tasting the potion, and that he himself had done exactly the same thing, only in the privacy of a Hogwarts dungeon. And he realized that the Healer had the same eager enthusiasm for his work that Brewster had, only unlike Brewster, saw no reason not to wear it on his sleeve.

“Thank you, Professor Brewster,” said the Healer earnestly. “You’ve done us a tremendous service.”

“My pleasure, Healer Gillyfeld.”

***

The clinical trial was conclusive and convincing, and St. Mungo’s put in a large order to the apothecaries for the Wolfsbane Potion. The Ministry finally allocated the funds necessary for the collection of the ingredients, and there were enough daredevils and witches and wizards in need of more pay that employees for the task could be found. As the potion was becoming more available, the Ministry finally decreed a ban on employment discrimination against werewolves, mainly thanks to the efforts of the brilliant and indefatigable Hermione Granger, who had chosen a career in the Creatures Department of the Ministry, from where she hoped she could be most effective in ending house-elf slavery. This proved to be her most intractable problem, because the house-elves would not yet claim freedom for themselves, and change could not come only from the top. But Hermione had many other things to accomplish.

She learned all the languages quickly was not afraid to go anywhere, and she became so effective in dealing with other beings that her rise within the department could not be stopped, despite the fact that she always told the truth about everything wizards had always done wrong. The other beings knew that no one from the Ministry had ever bothered to find out so much about them, and that this came from her empathetic nature as much as her intelligence. Eventually she became head of the department, from which post she determined to see to it that no other beings would ever have reason to be recruited by a movement like Voldemort’s. Under her leadership, any werewolf could obtain the Wolfsbane Potion for free through Werewolf Support Services, which also acted as an employment agency, offered free counseling and legal help, and did outreach to those who might not know about it.

***

The morning that Andromeda Tonks showed up at The Burrow at dawn to find her grandson, it was Arthur Weasley who opened the door, and he nervously hid her in a spare room so he could prepare Molly for the event. Molly had been angry with Andromeda for abandoning the baby, though happy to take care of him, but soon everyone found Andromeda so much recovered that they realized that her absence must have been necessary for the healing of her grief. She must have flown off somewhere unplanned for a change of scene, and no one judged her, as such behavior was typical of witches. The Weasleys, however, insisted that she stay with them for at least a week to make sure she really was in her right mind before returning the baby to her.

Andromeda told Harry privately that in a few years, when he was more settled, he could adopt the baby if he wished, as long as she could visit as often as she wanted to and would be the babysitter of choice. She knew that Teddy had bonded more to Harry than to her during his first year of life, since Harry had paid more attention to him. “And you know, Harry,” she said to him seriously, “we always have a special tie to those we bond with during the first year of life, which helps to make us who we are, whatever happens later.”

A few years later Harry was overjoyed to adopt Teddy Lupin, for his generous heart could conceive no greater joy than to make sure that this orphan’s childhood would be nothing like his own had been. As the boy grew up, Harry often told him how brave his parents had been, not only in battle but in standing up to social pressure, for his father had led a different life from the other werewolves because of his conscience, while his mother had defied, or rather ignored, social convention by marrying him. Harry also liked to tell Teddy the story of how his father had saved Harry’s life in a battle in the Ministry’s Department of Mysteries by forcibly stopping Harry from following his own godfather across the veil of death, when Harry had been unable to face the fact that Sirius was dead. Harry advised Teddy that if Harry should die, Teddy should not try to follow him, but in case he did try that, or any other very foolish thing, the best he could hope for was to have as quick and level-headed a friend at his back as Harry had had in Remus Lupin.

***

In recent years there has been serious talk among Muggles of reintroducing wolves to the highlands of Scotland. The Sorceresses are cackling. The Wizarding World is not excited about it, because their fear of werewolves has prejudiced them against true wolves. The Muggles may be wiser this time.


End file.
